Lest We Forget
by Elleari
Summary: After the fall the world moves on but Watson is stuck grieving his best friend. Enter Robin Day Whittaker, the odd woman who lives on top of a book shop. Solitary, awkward and sorrowful herself, how could she ever help John? In an old shop a friendship is struck, and it's only the beginning. Life's finally starting to pick up. Someone is returning. Part one of The Taker Series. OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Lest We Forget**

Part one of 'The Taker' series

...

**Chapter 1 ****– ****Routine is the Game**

...

'_I__'__m a fake.__' _

'_Sherlock...__'_

'_The newspapers where right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.__'_

'_Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met... the _first time we met_, you knew all about my sister, right?__'_

'_Nobody could be that clever.__'_

'You_ could.__'_

'_I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It__'__s a trick. Just a magic trick.__'_

'_No. Alright, stop it.__' _

'_No! Stay _exactly_ where you are. Don__'__t move.__'_

'_A-alright.__'_

'_Keep your eyes fixed on me. P-please, will you do this for me?__'_

'_Do what?__'_

'_This phone call __– __it__'__s, er... it__'__s my note. It__'__s what people do, don__'__t they- leave a note?__'_

_..._

'_Leave a note when?__'_

'_Goodbye, John.__'_

'_No. Don__'__t!__'_

_Falling is just like flying, except there is a more permanent destination..._

'_No! _SHERLOCK_!__'_

...

"No!" yelled the ex-army doctor, jumping up in his seat, his desk rattling from the impact of his knees. A startled nurse jumped back from him, her hand still reaching out from her attempt at waking the poor doctor from his nightmare.

"D-doctor? Doctor Watson?" asked the petite nurse a second time, a bit more forceful. She picked up an overturned pencil holder, trying to clean up the spilt contents as she furrowed her delicate eyebrows in concern.

Blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes, the disorientated man brought himself sluggishly into the present. "Y-yes? Sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I must have dozed off," replied Doctor Watson, shaking himself of his horrible dream. The nurse watched him in concern, but nodded, accepting it.

'_No__…__no, it was a memory,__' _he reminded himself while another, and hopefully the last, shiver ran up his spine. He gave the nurse a weak smile, trying to reassure her. He was, if anything, a gentleman after all.

"Sorry doctor, but you've got an appointment scheduled in half an hour," said the nurse, smiling back softly.

"An appointment? I wasn't working with anymore today..." asked Doctor Watson, furrowing his brow in hopes of remembering the supposed appointment.

"No, sorry- It's an appointment with your therapist," replied the nurse, setting the spilt holder back on Watson's desk, settling her hands behind her back.

"R-right-" was the shaky reply.

Doctor John Watson shifted awkwardly, a wave of shame washing over him. He knew it was nothing to be abashed about, and nothing to hide, but to have a colleague remind him… it was a bit embarrassing. Especially for the ex-army man. He hated to think he needed the therapy, hated to remember that he had a weakness, but all he could do was sigh and accept it.

'_Then again, if I still have these dreams, then maybe I should be there.__'_ He thought before huffing in defeat.

Working where he did, in such a small establishment, news traveled fast. He was glad that at least the nurse wasn't judgemental about any of it. She did, though, act friendly more than anything, looking out of the poor doctor. He was glad for that.

Since that fateful day, the day of the fall, Watson had gotten a stable job at a private practice, moved out of that infamous flat and even started to occasionally contact his old friends. And yet, he just didn't feel right. It'd been a year and a half since '_the fall__'_ and yet the poor doctor couldn't move on. John had made progress, no doubt, but he was still stuck in the memories.

'_I was once plagued by memories of Afghanistan, now I can__'__t help but think of _him_,__' _he thought before sighing again, shifting to get ready. Damn that man and what he'd done to John, for the better or not.

"Right,…uh, right," he started hesitating, "can you pass the crutch?" he asked the nurse. He shuffled out of his seat, grabbing his bag before starting to move out of his office.

"Here," said the nurse, passing Watson his cane. He would be damned if he had to live with it the rest of this miserable life but his leg was once again a crippled mess. He had no choice. He'd often tried to talk himself out of it, knowing that it was psychosomatic, but it didn't always work.

"Thanks," he mumbled out while passing the kind woman. _'__Nice to know there__'__s people like__…__like,__' _ Right as he passed through the door, he remembered his manners, a feeling of guilt passing for being so glum and gruff and forgetting to ask for a name. Sucking it up, he mentally shook himself and turned to the young nurse, trying to muster one of his old, kind smiles.

"Say, um…sorry, what was your name?" he asked, feeling like an idiot. He'd seen the nurse around, it wasn't like she was a complete stranger, and she had even helped him before, but he was never in the mood to care. He could have sworn that they'd met before somewhere...maybe in uni? _'__Very mannerly, you idiot.__'_

"Morstan, Maria Morstan. You can call me Mary, though. Ah, well... everyone does," replied Nurse Morstan, stuttering a bit. She smiled warmly at the doctor but it fell as there was no real response from the doctor who had already lost his train of thought. At least he had tried. She turned to leave, now even more concerned for her colleague. He was polite enough to hold his office door for her, but he was completely lost in thought. He had seemed reclusive to begin with, but it was obvious now that he was troubled.

As she turned around the corner, a thought hit John and he looked back up, wondering.

"Morstan..." Watson mumbled out, nodded and left, leaving finally. He seemed to be missing out on a lot these days.

...

"John," greeted John's therapist as he sat down in the oddly modern-minimalistic room of Dr. Thompson, who was sitting in a white plain couch similar to his own.

An hour after work found him once again in a familiar whitewashed room. Two chairs sat in front of each other that paralleled two windows looking out into a garden with a spruce tree.

"Hello," replied John half-heartedly, not really caring for the same boring routine.

Every time he came here, Thompson would ask him about his life, his job, his friends and he would reply with the normal 'all's fine' act. He really didn't care much anymore.

"How are you doing?" asked the therapist.

"Same as always, I suppose," responded out John automatically.

'_I__'__m a grown man for goodness sakes! An ex-soldier! I__'__ll deal with my problems in my own way.__'_ He thought stubbornly. But then, a little voice always nagged _'__He was the way you dealt. All those adventures and mysteries; remember what Mycroft told you.__'_ John sighed again, shaking himself so he could get the session over with. John was having an 'off' day again and he didn't have much patience. His mind was still wandering back to Miss Morstan, flinching at how he had acted.

By now, John was already answering the therapist automatically, the questions memorized long ago. _'__What question was she on again?__'_ He really didn't know why he came back.

"You've been working on your blog." It wasn't a question, it was a statement and it snapped John right out of his thoughts. _'__My blog?__'_ he thought confused. He hadn't touched the site since the last post a year or so ago. The hateful comments and memories of him had gotten too much.

"W-what? I haven't touched it." he asked, wary but curious and more than slightly confused. Doctor Thompson looked up, confused.

"The counter has been fixed and some things have been edited. It would seem that any 'anonymous' replies have been deleted, anything hateful, along with a post," answered the therapist. "You didn't do that?" She was now curious, quickly, she wrote something down again.

"No-no."

"You should look into it. There's been some reports of digital vandalism lately, normally blogs, so you should be careful."

"I- I didn't know. I'll check it."

'_Who could have done that? I should be the only one with access to the blog... well, maybe Mycroft...__' _John's thought's trailed off again, leaving him to think aimlessly. Eventually he figured if Mycroft did do it, it would be for a good enough reason and at the moment. Not his problem.

"And how is work?" proceeded Dr Thompson, not missing a moment.

"It's going fine. I took up another shift this week; I think I might keep it." John slipped back into his mechanical rhythm.

"Why?"

"Something to do, keeps me busy, distracted," answered John, unfocused. He regretted the slip immediately as Dr Thompson scribbled something down in her book again, this time frowning. _'__Brilliant,__'_ he thought bitterly.

"John, have you been doing anything else except working since our last session?"

"...yeah," muttered out John after a pause, trying to lie. He hadn't done any socializing, but he _had _technically done more than just work.

'_I feel like a child again, trying desperately to weasel myself out of a situation.__'_

"John, you need to do something productive in your life. You can't just live like a robot. You need to open up. If you shut yourself away then you're just denying what happened. What if he wasn't all that he was, you can't glorify him, he's go-"

"Stop!" proclaimed John, not wanting to listen to the ignorant therapist. "You didn't know him! I thought you believed? How can you listen to the media so blindly?" seethed John, feeling like a scar was starting to rip apart.

It seemed the doctor was on a short temper today, but then again, Dr Thompson was hitting a nerve. She hadn't even heard the news until he rejoined therapy; she hadn't even listened to him. He thought that since she had followed his blog, she might have believed…But just like everyone else she had just gone with the media, trusting them instead.

Thompson looked at him worriedly, trying to figure out what the good doctor was thinking.

"John-" said Thompson slowly, careful about what she said. She watched him for a moment, thinking about what to do next. This was an interesting case for her, never had she seen such grief and loss, even denial. She had no idea, though, about how wrong she was…again, she didn't know.

Silence stretched on for a while, Dr Thompson scribbling out a new idea as John just looked out of the window, watching the spruce tree sway in the light breeze.

"John, I want you to do something," said the therapist, flipping back on older notes, hoping that her new plan might work.

The old army doctor was a kind man, even now. He cared for people, even if his scars where too big a burden sometimes. He needed people to support him.

"What is it?" asked Watson timidly, a bit embarrassed of his outburst. He was curious though, wondering what Dr Thompson would make him do now.

The therapist hesitated, not knowing how he would react.

Finally, she spoke, "Go visit Baker Street. I know you haven't been there in over a month... at least. Just, walk the streets; visit Mrs Hudson if you want."

A silence stretched out between the two doctors; one thinking and one fretting.

"...I don't t-think…," responded John in a small voice after a moment, unsure. He didn't want to deal with the memories.

"Please John. You need condolence and to finish the grief cycle. It's been more than a year, the world is moving on. I don't want you to wake up one day and find that it's moved on without you. You need to move on," pleaded the therapist, trying to talk some sense into the army doctor.

John thought for a moment, his body still as he remembered. Thompson's sudden act of, compassion was it, confused John, but he knew she was right. He bowed his head and slumped his shoulders, tired from the day already.

'_But as long as _his_ name__'__s tarnished, you know you can__'__t. He was your best friend. Damn the media for making him into a fake,__'_ said the voice in his head. _'__I__'__ve got to try... it might do me some good,__' _he argued back.

Finally he looked back up to Dr Thompson, a hardened expression of his face. Stubbornness had won over, and John tended not to be one to back out of a challenge. This would be one of the hardest things he'd done in a long time, though. He'd avoided everything to do with _him_ for so long, hoping to forget, but it never worked, not really.

"R-right, I'll go. I'll go soon," he promised.

"Thank you," answered Thompson, smiling at his progress. She dismissed him, trusting that all would go well.

...

**Author's Note: **Hello there Internet! Right. So. A new story. My second attempt. I've been working on this for a while now, and I've gotten pretty far actually. I wanted to upload, though, before series 3 comes out (SO CLOSE!) just to keep a sense to it. It's my second story and I'm hoping it'll be interesting.

The story will based off of the original works of Arthur Conan Doyle, though probably in no particular order. I'll try to keep it 'after the Riechenbach fall' though, just to keep a bit of continuity. The story equivalent of 'The Empty House' is split into three parts and this is the first. Eventually this will involve a relationship between Sherlock and my Oc. She'll be introduced soon. Well, in chapter three. But don't skip to that, otherwise it wouldn't make sense. For now, though, it's about Robin and John's growing friendship and, y'know, grief and stuff. Read the story. You'll get it.

Disclaimer: I (Elleari) do not own any characters or situations pertaining to Arthur Conan Doyle's or BBC's work. Original characters and situations do, however, belong to me. This fiction is purely a fan made story for entertainment and no copyright infringement is intended.

Anyway, thank you for reading. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. They help improve and motivate my writing. Also, ask questions. I'll respond.

Cheers,

Elleari


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 ****– ****Calm Before Storming Baker Street**

...

"Doctor Watson, anything else?" asked a familiar nurse – Mary – from John Watson's office door.

"No-no, I think I'll be okay, th-thank you," he said distractedly, thumbing through some files half-heartedly.

John was planning to go to Baker Street tomorrow, as it was a Saturday and he had a day off. He had set the date right after coming back from the last therapy session but he had tried not to think of it. Whenever he did he felt anxious, melancholy, angry and sick at the same time. Thoughts swirled in his head and he knew if he dwelled he would just chicken out.

"Alright, see you later then," a small flicker of doubt crossed the nurse's face, worried once again for the doctor. She stayed and watched him for a few more seconds, wondering if he even realized she was still there.

"Mmm" replied John, distracted. He was reading over something, finally letting the words on the paper sink in, when he suddenly looked back up. Mary was about to turn and leave, concern still written over her furrowed brow, but was stopped suddenly.

"Wait! Nurse Morstan! This chart says that I was supposed to go to the surgery tomorrow," he questioned. Hadn't he confirmed that he had a free day tomorrow?

"Oh, yes," said Mary, smiling at the surprise of the doctor. "That was from a while ago though. I asked another doctor to fill your spot so you could have the day off," replied the nurse, smiling shyly at John, wondering if she hadn't made a mistake.

"Oh, well... thank you. But, um, how did you know?" asked Watson, finally really _seeing_ nurse Morstan for the first time. He'd been acting like a proper ass, hadn't he? For the past week they had been 'speaking' more, but John now remembered more of a one sided conversation. He was an idiot, to ignore her like that. She was a colleague! She was quite…pretty.

"Well, you've been muttering about tomorrow all week," countered the nurse, smirking.

"Right, well, thank you quite a bit. You've helped me quite a lot, nurse Morstan," said John, coughing to clear his throat a bit. "Ta, nurse Morstan."

"Mary, please," answered the young nurse, a lopsided grin spreading across her face as she wiped away any inhibitions.

"Ri-right, Mary." John smiled, finally a bit more cheerful as he reacted to the grin that split the nurse's face. They watched each other, just watched, for a moment longer.

"_Morstan_! You're needed in clinic four ASAP!" called a voice from down the hall. Mary reacted quickly, ripping their gaze apart as she said an abrupt good bye to John before rushing off.

"Morstan..." mumbled John once again, happy.

...

The weekend rolled around quickly and sure enough on Saturday morning John Watson found himself staring across the old street to the famed 221b Baker Street. Stormy clouds rolled over the street, blocking the sun. People rushed passed, not paying any attention to the still army doctor as they tried to get to their destination before the storm hit. Rain was definitely not a new thing to London, but the storm was said to be a big one.

In the year that had passed nothing seemed to have changed. _'__Nothing at all...__'_

John wasn't sure how he felt about that but he figured that at least he wouldn't have to learn anything new. He could only handle so much change.

John had thought about going in to see Mrs Hudson. It wasn't like he hadn't talked to her before, just not here. But today, he just couldn't get his body to move any closer to his old home. His leg didn't really help either. He was leaning heavily on his old metal crutch, his leg sore and throbbing. He couldn't decide whether it was from the weather or from this _visit._ Psychosomatic or not, it hurt!

He couldn't even get enough courage to go across the street and warm up in the cafe. _'__And you invaded bloody Afghanistan!__'_ he thought, trying to reason with himself up. His thoughts reminded him of an old joke, though, and his mood once again soured.

He watched the people go by for a while longer until his leg finally had enough. Feeling irritated, miserable and awfully awkward, he decided to make his way down the street away from Regent's park.

It was getting colder by the minute and the winds where picking up, the fall breeze turning into great gusts.

Huffing tiredly, he looked around the street, trying to decide whether it was worth calling a cab. Looking at his phone he saw that it was almost mid-day. _'__I__'__ve spent three hours just staring at a building..._' thought John, almost amused. _'__I wonder if Mrs. Hudson saw me staring__…'_

Looking back to the road he saw no taxi's in sight, all of them busy in the pre-lunch rush.

John sighed, figuring that if he could just find a place to bunker down for an hour or two, he'd be able to get a ride later.

Looking up at the sky, he squinted, focusing on the dark clouds rolling around London town. A raindrop fell in his face, making him blink. _'__Brilliant,__'_ he thought, frowning.

Soon enough, he was limping as quickly as he could down the street, trying to get out of the sudden downpour.

'_Bloody London weather, gets worse every year.__' _

Rushing by, he spotted an old book store. Before even thinking, he rushed into the two story building, the warmth enveloping him quickly as he sighed contently.

It was strange, he'd walked these streets hundreds of times but he'd never noticed the old shop.

'_Old structure, nicely settled. It__'__s been here a while now... why didn__'__t I notice?__' _ he thought while taking off his coat and hanging it to dry on a hook by the mudroom. _'__Well, because you__'__re an idiot.__'_ His inner voice said, sounding uncannily like his old friend. He cringed, his mood sinking again.

The shop was warm and welcoming. The front had seats and inviting couches placed around two low coffee tables, respectively. The front display window was blocked off slightly by towers of books but left room enough for an edge to sit on and an old pillow or two. The four walls where all lined with old oak shelves that where filled with a variety of books and bobbles. Further back held even more shelves, though they were just short of the height of the ceiling, along with tables that held knick-knacks and even more books for sale. At the very back there was a little reading nook along with a door that no doubt led to the back.

To John's left was a front desk with a cashier station piled high with papers and trinkets. A computer sat further away, old and well used with stickers and reminders all around it. The shelving and other pieces of furniture where all made of oak or some other darker wood; but the walls where either painted a calming light blue or green, light fixtures hanging where needed. The couches where deep red with pillows of random colours and sizes and it seemed that whoever owned the shop has spend many years collecting all the shop's details.

'_Well, it seems to be organized enough__…__ feels homely,__'_ noticed John, nodding in approval. He really didn't mind what this place was, as long as he had gotten out of that god forsaken storm.

Another entrance, just behind the front desk and this time closed off with handing beads, lead to an office or even a living area, John couldn't tell. The whole building wasn't very big, hardly the size of the larger chain bookstores, as it had more of a boutique size if anything. The shop room was more narrow than anything, stacked high with merchandise The good doctor couldn't even imagine what was upstairs, but guessed that someone lived there.

And yet, books covered almost every surface, the odd world globe or clock sticking out between the shelves. Banners and planes, cards and other flying figures even hung from the ceiling, swaying slowly every now and again.

'_And what can we deduce about this place?__'_ said a nagging voice in John's head. He cringed, the tone all too similar. _'__Shut up,__' _he thought right back, ignoring the fact that he was arguing with voices.

The good doctor didn't plan on staying very long, just being here brought back bittersweet memories. Peeking outside, he could only sigh in defeat, knowing that the sudden storm wouldn't subside any time soon. He rubbed his neck and made his way over the comfy couches, his leg protesting too much for him to stay upright any longer.

He sat down with a big 'oomph-' telling himself that the owner or whoever was working today wouldn't mind the intrusion. He sat there for a while, just staring out the front window. The side panels where painted with intricate books while at the top of the front panel the store's title was scrawled on an old fashioned board, the letters written in fancy typography.

"Carpe Librium..." murmured John, reading the name as best he could from the odd angle. A fitting name, if not a bit cheesy.

A few minutes passed as he just sat there, taking in the shop. Eventually, though, his eyes began to droop a bit. _'__A light nap won__'__t do any harm,__' _he thought, almost sluggishly, the warm atmosphere of the place finally getting to him. He really did need the rest.

But, before he could nod off, he heard movement from the left, from the hall from behind the counter, a shuffling and then a small garbled squeak. He jumped a bit and looked to where the noise came from. There, dressed in a huge sweater and fitted jeans was a willowy, raven haired woman peeking out from the archway, her slender hands grasping its frame in surprise, her striking forest green eyes wide like she had never seen a person before.

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **– **There is No Such Thing as Coincidence **

...

When she awoke that early morning, Robin Day Whittaker didn't expect to be meeting anyone. Really, she hadn't even expected to get out of bed.

She'd awoken after three measly hours of sleep, her body stretching uncomfortably as her bed was just a bit too small for her tall, lithe body. Craning her head to peek through the drapes of her bedroom window, Robin watched in monotone as the sky started to bleed the first signs of a rising sun. It was a pretty sunrise, the clouds tinting a light periwinkle with the light. The beauty went practically unnoticed to Robin, instead cursing as she stretched.

'_Thirteen visible clouds in the air. Precipitation levels at 0.23% but with a 34% chance at rain. With the altitude the clouds are reaching the storm will be here by 12:34. Static levels rising. Thunderstorm. Wind velocity__…__I__'__m guessing 15 miles per hour.__' _

Eventually, once her mind had calculated each variable and statistical inquiry from the sky, she went to her kitchen, drank her tea and vitamins and sat down at her desk to work a few hours.

She had spent half an hour looking for her glasses, a few minutes staring at the gathering clouds and finally spent another ten or so minutes trying to find a good music disk to play. _'__Chopin. Waltz. Three/quarter timing. Strong beat followed by two weak beats. Geiser__'__s code is based off of the timing. Will be able to write 4.64 words per beat. Second movement, 1.23 words.__' _She had then worked till mid-day, soft music filling her small flat that sat above the book store.

Robin lived alone, not just in the normal way but in every sense. To date, since Mr Forester (the owner of the bookstore, unknown age but calculably around 75, 5'9, 145 pounds, has arthritic problem which is degrading bones by 0.0056 per day) had 'closed' the shop for a small holiday, she hadn't interacted with anyone in over two weeks.

Routine was routine for her and she had no expectations from anybody this way. Her mind was filled with codes and cyphers and was just too busy.

"I need a smoke..." huffed Robin, muttering to herself as she coughed and cleared her throat. Maybe she needed some water first, though. Or tea. She wasn't a smoker, but with her life the way it was, she didn't really care for the little sin now and again.

After half an hour past noon, an alarm rang and Robin sighed deeply as she looked over towards the clock and set down her work.

Swinging out her fire escape window, she quickly climbed down the rackety ladder and went to unlock the bookstore's back door. Eventually making it inside the private back of the shop, she went to check up on the store. Deciding to also maybe pick up a book or two to read along the way, Robin nodded to herself. _'__I__'__m thinking a classic...maybe some Nietzsche, the one with 153 pages,__' _although, she had to admit that she just really didn't care.

She made her way into the bookstore, humming lowly and translating the sight of a bug on the wall into a matrix of code, but was abruptly startled. Taking a second to realize what she saw, she was surprised to find a sandy haired man plopped in one of the store's crimson couches.

"Merde-" she begun, catching herself as she froze. Jumping, she back-pedalled a bit, a little squeak coming from her lips. Robin, to say the least, wasn't prepared to confront anybody. The man turned his head in her direction, as surprised as she was. Grey eyes mirrored her own green ones, her bleak exterior breaking a bit as eyes shone with fear.

'_Middle aged, approximated to be about 40. He has a cane. It would take him around 0.23 seconds to reach me,__' __s_he thought automatically, taking in his appearance quickly. She calculated the usual, but didn't get past much. He didn't seem to be a bad person, well...as far as her naivety could tell her. She noted the way he sat, he was as surprised as she. _'__No threat then.__'_

Dark bags under his eyes mirrored her own, indicating a lack of sleep. What caught Robin's attention though, were his eyes. They looked so sad, contrary what she would have expected from the stranger's demeanour.

'_He seems kind, I think. What__'__s he doing here anyway? Did I forget to lock the door? Can I ask him to leave? No, it__'__s raining... that would be rude. Tea?__'_ she thought systematically, trying to figure out what to do.

Silence stretched out, none of the two strangers knowing what to do. Robin stared at the man a moment longer before finally sucking up the courage to talk, sadly realizing that he wasn't going to.

"H-hello?" she said quietly, her voice scratchy from the lack of use but not all that rough to the ears. At least she had managed to sound half-normal, apart for the stutter. That was normal for her at least.

"O-Oh! Right!" the stranger seemed to jump out of his thoughts. "Hello, sorry for startling you. It's raining and I'm just looking for some shelter, I don't live around here... you don't mind, do you? There were no cabs and I saw the shop..." he babbled quickly, trying to calm Robin. She was becoming terrible wide-eyed, though she couldn't help but let her lips twitch in a small smile. The man was funny.

"My name's John Watson, I hope I didn't come in on a closed day, did I?" asked John, looking like it was just dawning on him.

Robin only nodded a bit, acknowledging John before turning around and heading towards the Mr Forester's kitchen to make some tea, not really knowing what else to do. Mr Forester had told her once 'if there's any doubt, have a cuppa.' Robin trusted Mr Forester's word.

As the willowy woman left, it was a bit of a surprise for John. He didn't really know what to do now. She'd just…left. Was he supposed to stay? She hadn't introduced herself either. Finally he decided to just wait in his seat, he technically hadn't been asked to leave and he sure as hell didn't want to go out in that weather.

Robin hurried around the small kitchen on the first floor, clattering about to make some tea.

'_Calm down you dunce, Mr Watson__'__s not going anywhere. Would it be okay just to leave him down there? The storm is raining 0.34 ml per square inch every five seconds...that a bit too much. He seems harmless enough; he__'__d be going soon anyway. But...he did seem a bit chilled...a cuppa will do us both some good,__'_ She thought rapidly, pushing up her little ocular glasses up her nose while preparing a small tray of tea. It's not like she actually needed the glasses at the moment, it was just habit.

'_I need a smoke.__'_

Once she finished the tray, she hurried back towards the stranger. She stopped short, though, right before the archway as logic caught up to her.

Why was she suddenly helping a stranger? What if this man was a killer and he was just about ready to pounce?

'_A stalker...probably not. One of _them_?_ _Nah. The probability of him attacking me and actually inflicting harm is...7.3%...give or take,__' _

She hated being around people, everyone was just so…so…oblivious, and abrasive. And sometimes she just couldn't deal with the headaches she got from calculating all that information. To her people were mostly just walking code and information. She didn't know enough people to hate anyone in specific, but ever since she started living her lifestyle she just couldn't bother with others. She knew she was just being paranoid, but for good reason. People where despicable, give them a hand and they'll reach for your neck.

She supposed that there were good people out there, Mr Forester was one of them probably, but she couldn't think all of them were like him. It was an odd condition, she knew it was probably some psychiatric thing but she hadn't the care to diagnose it. With her life now, she was just used to being left alone.

So then, why help a stranger? Robin couldn't call herself completely heartless...she supposed. She still weeped when her favourite fictional characters died. At the very least she was ingrained with manners. Still...when was the last time she had really helped someone outright? Baring charity, of course.

'_His eyes! His eyes are so sad but his face indicates a happy, if not hard, life. Why is he so sad? It__'__s too familiar, why?__' _she thought rapidly to herself, a habit of hers. She wouldn't call herself a genius or anything but she could think at a mile per hour sometimes. It was more of just a habit. Mr. Forester had said before that he knew at least four other ladies who could speak as fast as she thought. And she was just so used to translating code and working with numbers, it was just second nature. She was good with numbers.

She gazed at the wall opposite of her, her figure reflecting in a dusty mirror with mild recognition.

Robin was tall, very tall, with long limbs and an extremely skinny figure. She wouldn't tower over anyone past 6'5, let along sports players, but she did tower over most of her gender. She was supposedly lanky to the point of awkwardness but she normally covered her body in baggy clothes, not caring as she almost never went into public. She had dexterous, nimble and, once again, long fingers which had become her greatest tools over the years. Her face was sallow and thin, reminding her a bit like a deer's skull.

'_Odd, that.__'_

Skin: sallow and fair as she rarely went outside. Freckles would appear occasionally, when she wasn't very busy and decided to take a quiet stroll. Nose; pronounced but not protruding, rigid, with a prominent bony arch. Ears and lips; average. Hair: long (to her hips), straight and raven black. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw everything as normal, almost going on to say that she was ghostly. All in order then.

But then her eyes; they were almost the same as Mr Watson's. She had piercing, deep green eyes, as diverse in shades as a forest, but they still held dullness to them around the edges. They were supposed to be doe-like but over the years they had just become tired and downcast. There was sadness in them like Watson's that immediately made her empathize.

Shaking herself, she brought the tray to where Watson was sitting, placing it down on a coffee table and handing him a sorely needed towel that she had snatched. He thanked her gratefully, his clothes soaked from the rain, his hair just beginning to dry.

"I was just visiting the street, errands and so, and suddenly this came about," started John, motioning to the storm outside. "Is it alright if I stay in here for a mo? I won't bother you at all. Are you the, um, owner of the shop?" he asked.

Robin smiled, the kind gesture warming her face as she relaxed a bit more. She was always so tense around people but it seemed Mr Watson was a nice man.

She cleared her throat a bit, unused to talking.

"I-It's fine," She started, a flash of lightning emphasizing her point. "I-I'm not the owner, no. I work here part time so I'm just watching the shop," she continued, getting used to talking again. There were certain disadvantages to not speaking to anyone in weeks; a creaky throat seemed to be one of them. To continue the conversation she would have mentioned that Mr Forester was the owner and that he was on one of his holidays, or that she lived in the flat above, but really, that wasn't like her.

"Thank you...um?" began Watson but had to stop since Robin hadn't given her name. "Sorry, I must have missed your name...ah, um,

"Robin...uh... Whittaker." she said, pausing for a moment. Robin smiled lightly before starting to turn away and head back to her flat, not wanting to speak if she didn't need to. John Watson seemed like a trustworthy enough bloke so she could just leave him. _'__Probably...__'_

"Wait, um, would you like to sit and chat? I-if you're not busy..." asked Watson, he didn't want to impose but a nice conversation always passed the time. He also didn't want to admit that after visiting the old flat he felt like his heart had been through a sifter. He needed a good talk, or at least not to be alone, that was for sure.

"I'm not a very g-good chatter, really," replied Robin, turning around cautiously, now unsure.

"Non-sense, if you have time to spare..." continued, smiling as kindly as he could.

"No-No...I'm really not good c-company."

"Please...I-I...need to be around someone right now. If...if that's alright with you?" asked John, as honest and exposed as he'd been for a long time. He knew it was rude to ask, but at least he could try.

"W-well...mmm...alright. Talking won't k-kill me," she said guardedly before sitting down silently, pouring some tea for herself as well. She didn't know why she agreed...maybe it was the sad eyes. Like a kicked puppy.

Robin could only smirk when John made a face at her last comment; she had said it so unsurely that he probably had to review the facts himself.

"Ta" murmured Robin, fidgeting oddly while trying to think of what to do.

"So, you work here part time?" continued Watson, trying to converse. He had asked so he would try to at least start off. He had no idea of how odd it was, though, for Robin.

"Sort of, yeah. I work here now and again but I have other jobs."

"Like what?"

"Umm...com-tech, basically, I get commissions," lied Robin easily. _'__Well, it__'__s not that far from the truth.__'_

She wasn't one to share so easily, especially with a stranger. She had learnt from experience not to give out any information to a outsider, especially in her _actual _line of work.

"What about you?" she asked back, figuring it was a good place to start.

"I'm working with a partner and we have a little medical practice in south London. I help out at a few hospitals too, when they are understaffed. Just the basic stuff; I used to be an army doctor," replied John easily, accepting Robin's lie quickly. "I was just visiting an old... place. Kind of. I used to, um, live down the street. I was asked to go back, though I don't know how much it's helping..." babbled John, his face hardening again. Robin squinted, her memory (which was an accurate one) bringing up old memories.

"Oh! Are you Doctor John Watson! You knew the consulting detective," exclaimed Robin quietly, recognition suddenly dawning on her while startling the kind doctor. What providence, really. There weren't many doctors living around this area, especially not famous ones. Even as excluded as she was, Robin knew what was in the news, and who hadn't heard of the famous duo, really?

"Y-you know me?" he asked warily.

"Well, w-well, I've read about you on the internet. I spend a fair time on it for my work and I remember reading the n-news about the two of you, kind of. Not too much really...it came up when I was researching something," explained Robin quickly, skipping over some facts.

'_Well then, I have a celebrity in my midst. Oh my, my life,__' _thought Robin. In her mind she chuckled at the coincidence of it all, a smirk appearing in her mind.

"Oh, well... yeah. I suppose there's still a lot of gossip still on the web," began John, growing darker in mood as he contemplated something. Slowly, Robin noticed that John's hand started to twitch, his shoulders slumping. "They never seem to stop though, always pattering on about how he was a fake, how he made up everything," he huffed, furrowing his brow.

"W-Well, the press tend to say a lot of thing, even if it's n-not their place," replied Robin quietly, sipping tea.

"But everything they say is based on forgery! For months they blamed him, blacken his name." John took a breath, his eyebrows shutting as old emotions welled up suddenly.

"His work mattered to so many people, he helped! He really did...I've seen his work first hand and he was _not_ a fraud. He was a good man though, and really, how DARE they. They keep blaming him and **accusing and I KNOW he not a fake but why won****'****t they BELIEVE!****" ****y**elled John suddenly, losing his temper as the day finally seeming to get to him. He resented the tabloids so much for every lie they had put out, following that prick 'Richard Brook's' plan to a bloody T.

Robin jumped back in her seat, startled at the army doctor's outrage. She felt like running away, hiding away in the safety of her flat, but something kept her rooted to her seat. Her eyes wide at the sudden outburst of a practical stranger, Robin just had to wonder how long had he been holding it in?

'_I__'__m...curious. I haven__'__t felt that in a while...__'_ If she had been a bit more courageous she would have probably raised an eyebrow. _'__Well, that escalated quickly.__'_

Fire sparked in his eyes finally, but it was a spiteful fire, one filled with sorrow. Robin couldn't help but worry, seeing such a broken man. Such sorrow and loneliness and...

'_That__'__s enough, dear, you__'__ve got a customer,__'_ her subconscious reminded her, the odd voice steering her thought train back on track.

John came out of his rage as quickly as it began, fading into the thundering of the sky and the dark, leaking clouds. He now sat slumped, worried that he would have scared the one person that was finally listening. Tears threatened to overflow and he couldn't help let a few slip. The doctor hadn't cried since visiting the grave for the first time and John had kept strong, but no more. He was just so tired.

Awkwardly, Robin reached out and patted his knee, obviously lacking the tack to respond to these situations. She watched the man carefully, thinking of what to do next. Eventually, she spoke up in a small voice.

"I don't believe a word they say, Doctor Watson. Trust me when I say that there are people who knew who he _really_ was. The man was no saint, but from what I hear, he was a knight."

John looked back up, startled by the supposed stranger. He would later laugh crookedly at how he had come to trust strangers so quickly. The good doctor stayed still for a moment before a grin started to tug at his cheeks. The woman in front of him had suddenly sprouted such an open and earnest look on her face that he couldn't help it.

Robin smiled even more, trying to lighten the mood. _'__It__'__s working! I can__'__t believe it, but it__'__s working!__'_ She had let slip her opinion and for once she was happy that it had worked in her favour.

"Doctor Watson, come on then, believe in him."

"Just John, please," he responded after a moment, making a decision to try and procure a friend that day.

Robin nodded in agreement, though she didn't know why.

"Robin t-then, too."

They stared at each other for a bit, the rain still pattering against the shop's window. Eventually, they started to crack up and laugh, both seemingly freer than they both had been for a long time. Robin first watched as John cackled and burst into laughter before she too couldn't help it.

"What mad people we are to be laughing in such sorrow," she exclaimed while she tried to control herself.

Robin felt herself become quite comfortable with John, chatting amiably as he told her about his practice and so forth. Feeling that comfortable, it was an odd occurrence for her, since she considered herself to be what people called a 'hermit.' Rarely did she go out these days and so her social skills had rusted away. Her work let her stay close to home and with little interference. She personally was happy like that but it seemed like she missed being able to laugh whole-heartedly.

As Robin and John talked more and more (though Robin did an awful lot of listening) the time flew on and soon it was already late afternoon. The sun had begun to set, the sky becoming even darker than before. For once, Robin forgot about her numbers.

The rain was letting up but thunder and lightning took its place, the pauses in between the flash and boom becoming shorter and shorter while the rumbling noise became louder. John mumbled at a particularly dramatic crash but Robin couldn't keep from slipping out a small grin. John noticed and looked at her oddly.

"You enjoy this weather?" he asked curiously.

"I wouldn't want to be in the cold rain, but I love thunder and lightning ever since I was a child. Well, as long as it doesn't short out my electricity. I need that. Not sure why... therapists said it was a power complex but I'm pretty sure they were wrong," explained Robin absentmindedly, not noticing the slip up.

"I used to be afraid of thunder; I think Afghanistan changed that though," mused John before back-pedalling. "Wait, therapists?" he asked, accentuating the end of the word, wondering about the plural.

"Not hard to believe, trust me," answered the strange woman, admitting to at least one thing tonight. Why not, John had proven to be innocent enough and Robin felt that maybe, just maybe, she could come to trust the stranger.

"But... plural?" insisted John.

Robin bit her lip, not wanting to say more. She had slipped up once already, just now, and she knew she had to explain. _'__It__'__s only fair...I suppose. Trustworthiness was something important in friends...I think.__'_

"I-like playing games. I'm also really good at codes and numbers. Back in the day...I had started to develop manipulative tendencies. I used to play games with my therapists until...until they handed me off to the next. They never understood the games, though. No one got the codes or...yeah. I think I've grown out of it but even now it's fun to see people dance to your tune. I-I was quite good at it," answered Robin vaguely, slightly ashamed about that part of her past. John nodded, accepting it but he couldn't help but cringe a bit. Since the fall and Moriarty, he hated any sort of mind game.

"S-sorry," responded Robin, seeing his discomfort.

"No, just bad memories of a bad man." This time it was John's turn to answer vaguely, and Robin had to guess it was to do with the Brook character from the news.

"Well, I don't think that'll be a problem. I'm not –at least I don't think –bad, unless you count the occasional cigarette and...y'know...paranoia, a bad thing," said Robin, almost to herself. John chuckled; he could hardly see such a timid woman being anything but good. Though, Robin looked nothing like a saint, far from it in fact. She wasn't ugly...or unlikable, not at all evil. She was just, from John's point of view, tired and a bit worn, as if she hadn't cared to take care of herself in a while.

"Do you still play games?" asked John jokingly, lightening the mood.

"You could say that. I sometimes find a challenge online, on a forum, or something. But, no... not really. I don't get out much anymore," was Robin's cryptic reply, keeping the doctor at an arm's length.

Time passed again and eventually the conversation turned back to John's routine. He told the ashen woman about his army days, about his friends and family and even a bit about his late friend. Robin would occasionally interject with a question or two when she didn't get a reference but apart from that she just listened. Each story John told, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders, as if the scars from yesterday were fading...a bit. She seemed to have helped John with his 'problems' more in one day than his therapist did in weeks.

Another boom of thunder hit, but now much farther away. The pair had been so engrossed with John's stories that they hadn't felt time pass. The sky now seemed lighter (for the time of day) and the rain had dissipated into a light drizzle.

Robin glanced up and saw that people where starting to make their way out of their warm shelters and back onto the streets.

"The rain is light enough to walk in now. If you wish I can lend an umbrella and you could be on your –on your way," suggested Robin, a bit quieter than she anticipated. John sighed; he wanted to get back home but was reluctant to stop chatting with Robin.

He didn't know her long, but the time had helped. He had told her so much and felt so much lighter. But then, she hadn't really said anything about her life. He'd ask next time, if there was a next time.

"Hurmph –Alright, seems I should get going," he said finally, still reluctant.

Robin smiled, again choosing not to say anything. Silently she cleaned up the mugs and went over to pick John an umbrella.

"Thank you," he said as he took the much needed cover. "I forgot there was going to be a storm today, I was a bit…distracted." Reaching for his cane he got up slowly and faced Robin, looking into her tired gaze. He saw so little in her gaze, a carefree mask covering her feelings, although, her eyes did widen at the sudden proximity and attention.

"Really, thank you for _everything._"

Robin blinked, not used to such moments. _'__When was the last time you even talked to someone face to face anyway?__'_ She fumbled for world, not being able to rely on the spur of the moment. Though, she supposed it could have been worse, Watson could have tried to flirt with her instead. _'__He__'__s too kind and weary for that,__' _she thought, looking at him.

"Friends?" he asked, hopeful. He extended and arm out for her to shake but she retracted into herself more, shaking her head a bit. John was afraid she was going to reject the proposition but his doubts cleared when the awkward woman looked back up to him and instead smiled.

"…friends," she said unsurely before taking in a breath.

"Well, it was nice meeting you John," she began, dropping her voice and suddenly sounding a bit more put off. "But, I doubt that you'll ever see me again, b-but it's been truly a pleasure." She found herself sad at letting go, something she had thought she had trained herself out of.

'_When have I ever needed anyone__'__s company? Not going soft, am I?__'_ she scolded herself lightly.

"A –um. Well, I suppose so– but you never know," answered John, moving out the door as Robin held it open so he could open his umbrella.

"A-And John, I'll give you some advice..." Robin started, growing still and openly solemn. "Don't let your loss consume you. Move on before it's too late."

"Why?" asked John carefully, watching the young woman sadly, wonder how this advice would be any different from everything else he'd heard. He'd already gotten the same advice from the therapist today.

"The world will keep spinning, and if you really want to keep up, you have to either smother your memories or accept them and move on in full." Robin paused, looking away. "John, please move on," said the mysterious woman finally.

"Bu-" John wanted to protest, but Robin only smile sadly. _'__Because one day you__'__ll wake up and have realized you__'__ve turned out to be a lonely old man with sorrowful eyes,__' __s_he though, but never vocalized.

John paused but eventually thanked Robin again and headed down the road, hailing a cab. It was the same advice, but coming from Robin there was a greater impact, as if it wasn't just a suggestion but also a fact.

Robin quickly shut the door, locked it and flipped the stereotypical sign.

She sighed heavily against the doorframe, exhausted emotionally and mentally. _'__Hermit is as hermit does,__'_ she repeated to herself bitterly. Oddly enough, she felt her stomach stir, her body felt tired but alive. She liked this solitary existence; for her alone was not always the same thing as being lonely.

'_And yet you liked to talk with Mr Watson __– __John - didn__'__t you?__'_ she thought to herself.

She was beginning to grow restless, something she hated. Her life was fine as it was, working from home, small downstairs job, lots of books and little human interaction. She didn't need anything new, especially since she barely had anything left.

Shaking her head, she rubbed her eyes tiredly and collected the tea tray. She couldn't help but smile when she saw that John had managed to drink his whole bowl of a mug. She never could, but then again she barely ate.

Taking the tray back to the kitchen, she accidentally stumbled and hit the umbrella stand.

"Bloody..." she mumbled, nudging the rack.

Suddenly, a smirk fell upon her features and a small laugh escaped her lips as she smiled down at the rack.

'_Maybe I__'__ll see the good doctor again then,__'_ she finally let herself think, a twinge of excitement fluttering in her veins.

...

**Author's Note: **

Let me introduce...(dum da, da daaa) Robin Day Whittaker! The protagonist of the story and my OC. I dreamed her up about a year or so ago and about half a year ago I started writing her story. Originally, she was never even suppose to be a character in this universe. But she fit and it worked. She has a tragic backstory, she's very awkward and just a bit hermit-y. You'll learn The backstory will reveal itself later on, as that's a part of the plot. She's also a bit of a mystery to everyone. She a confusing lass, but a kind one at least.

I have a picture of her on my art tumblr, if you want to know how she looks. The link is on my bio.  
She looks like...well, a bit like a female Loki I suppose. I didn't real mean for that to happen, but she sort of turned out that way. Also, before anyone comments, I do know that she looks relatively similar to Sherlock, but, well, we can't all have complimentary physical attributes. People look like people. Robin, in my head, represents the original depictions of Sherlock Holmes. She's a bit of a mix of the book's descriptions (She's tall, but not that tall. She's just a smidgen shorter that Sherlock) and the original drawings of Sherlock by Sidney Paget.

Reviews and comments are always welcome and it keeps the story rolling.

Cheers,  
Elleari


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 ****–****Quartermaster **

...

...

Code: 11[lock:/223948375]code6 01001010111010-10101

This is now a safe chat

_**Q**_ _has logged in_

**Q**: It's safe, what business do you have.

_**M **__has logged in_

**Q**: Quaint name.

**M**: Well, I thought why not stick with the Bond theme, Quartermaster, as it does fit. Nice talking to you again, how are you fairing?

**Q:** How do you know its Bond? I could be just an actual Quartermaster.

**Q:** Fine, I'm doing fine. Not actually a Quartermaster, but it seems flattering enough, don't you think? Business?

**M**: I've seen some of your work in the news, quite literally if I do say so myself. Keeping busy?

**Q**: Oh, that? Simply had too much free time on my hands and thought why not perform a kind deed.

**M**: I'd rather you left it alone, it happened for a reason. If you are bored than I have something for you to tinker with.

**Q**: And why would that be? Oh, and what is it? Hope not another surveillance hack, they get awfully boring.

**M**: It's confidential.

**M**: No, no. Elections in the U.S.A are coming up, have you heard?

**Q**: Well then, I see no reason to stop then. They wouldn't really be happy with a new Queen, would they? It's not like you can do anything about it.

**Q**: Who's president at the moment?

**M**: Barack Obama

**Q**: Oh! I like him. I think... politicians are as politicians do.

**M**: I'll try not to take offence from that.

**Q**: Will do.

**M**: Before we continue, is there a reason as to why you are tampering with the media, Quartermaster?

**Q**: Oh, not really. Good Samaritan? I'm getting real tired of those gits.

**Q**: Now, you have some business for me?

**M**: No information until you give me your word.

**Q**: You know that my word counts for nothing. I'll do as I please; there isn't much you can do to stop me. It's not like I'm hurting anyone, not really.

**M**: I have a team that could track you down in minutes if you where to do anything...illegal. Again.

**Q**: Your lackeys can't touch me and you know it. I'd be done with them quicker than they could get to their computers. Now, before I decide that you are wasting my time, what is the news?

**M**: Very well.

**M**: We've gotten intel about the possibility of an electronic attack on the U.S polls on the day of elections. They seem to be 'going digital' this year and you know how it is with cyberspace.

**Q**: You'd like me to disable the attack and firewall the election counters?

**M**: Precisely.

**Q**: I'll do it, my wage is as usual.

**M**: Everything will be covered. Try not to be detected.

**Q**: When am I ever?

**M**: I ask, though, that you do not further yourself in your media endeavour, understood?

**Q**: Sorry, M, the kraken's been released and there's no stopping it. But don't worry; the articles will go back to normal in a week or so.

**M**: You are the bane and saviour of the British Government, Quartermaster.

**Q**: Oh I know. You'll be hearing from me soon.

**M**: Quartermaster, I warn you...

**Q**: Lol, K Thnx bye!

_**Q**__ has logged out._

**M**: Bugger.

_**M **__has logged out._

[01000101010] code3432 disintegrate 2938484903 [unlock]


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 ****–****Second Time****'****s a Charm**

…

"Robin! ROBIN, WE'VE GOT BUSINESS!" called an elderly black man from the back of the old book shop. Shuffling about, he ran his hand quickly through his silvery hair before bustling back to the front of the shop.

"Coming!" Came the faint reply from the apartment above, followed soon by Robin. She stumbled down the fire escape before hurrying inside the shop, swinging through the open window, almost tripping.

Cold eyes traveled over the few people that had entered the shop, quickly assessing the work to be done. _'__Tourists,__' __s_he thought quickly with a grimace on her face, seeing their travel guides and apparent 'foreign-ness.' _'__A profit of 85% should be expected, most seem to be the souvenir type.__'_

"I'm here," said the ashen woman quickly, turning now to the elderly man.

"Oh good. Robin, can you get the new shipment from the back? It just got in and I've got to watch the shop up front," asked the elderly man, who was the owner of the book store.

"Alright Mr Forester, can you handle yourself out here?" questioned Robin right back, knowing how the plump man could get carried away.

"I'll be fine dear. And _please_ call me Alfred at _least,_" reminded Mr Forester. Robin had known the man for about three years but still couldn't call him by his first name, trying to keep a distance.

Robin nodded faintly at his request.

"How is your back? You didn't lift in all those heavy boxes by yourself, did you?" she asked. Although she wasn't one for attachment, she started to adopt a sort of care-taker approach with the elderly shop owner and landlord. He regarded her as his child, watching over her and keeping her in line and Robin couldn't help but feel fondness towards the man. Except for his awful dad jokes. And she had to constantly remind him not to treat her like a child. He was someone who...cared...no matter how much she told him off. She respected his care and, after three years, had accepted Alfred Forester as a close companion and guardian.

Looking a bit sheepish but a smile still plastering his face, Mr Forester shifter from one foot to another. "Oh...well... maybe one or two...But I'm fine dear, really."

Robin sighed, slightly exasperated. Mr Forester had once been an army man so he had a tendency of pushing himself too much. She watched her boss carefully, assessing his posture.

'_He__'__s a bit more hunched today; his back is bothering him...again. The twelfth lumbar disk seems to be pushed out a bit more than normal and his neck is no doubt aching from craning around,__'_ she thought rapidly, going through the mental check-up routine she had for him.

"Sure?" she asked, ready to leave.

"Fine, fine. Robin, what about you? Have you eaten today?" asked Mr Forester.

"Two cuppas and my vitamins," replied Robin hurriedly, sheepish. She brushed it off quickly, though, ignoring the problem, ready to get to work.

"Come now dear, you need more than that!" exclaimed he shop owner. As Robin watched the elderly man's back problems, he watched her eating habits.

"It's fine. I had a late night yesterday, a lot of work. I had a bit of leftover take-away."

"Mmm...alright dear, take care and get to work. I'll bring some more tea later on. I'm making dinner so I might bring some up."

Robin nodded, turning and heading quickly towards the back, avoiding the sparse groups of costumers that littered around the shop. She slipped into the back room and sighed heavily before heading off to look for the books she needed to unload.

Mr Forester had such a warm heart, even Robin couldn't help be around him. He was around 83 or so –he never told anyone– but even though he looked elderly on the outside he was so energetic he could probably outrun an athlete. Or maybe not, but he was still a good hustler. He still had a lot of back problems as he was wounded in service all those years ago.

He was relatively short, his bones being compressed with age. He had a normal gait on a good day but was a bit plush around his belly. His ringleted silvery grey hair was cut like a professor's, in a slightly bushy classical way, and he had the most amusing moustache. Kind brown eyes shown through thick eyebrows and he seemed to have a permanent smile on his lips.

His skin was well worn from the sun and other elements, even now his dark skin was splotched here and there with even darker spots, indicating the long hours he had enjoyed in the sun. Deep laugh lines and wrinkles framed his face, but really, he wouldn't be himself without them.

Mr Forester had returned from his vacation about three weeks ago, about two weeks after the 'Watson' incident, as Robin like to call it. He sported a new tan from his vacation, and had apparently discovered a new hobby in water colouring. She had tried to avoid the subject of what had happened for days after he had returned, but she was never good at hiding things from him.

The awkward woman tended not to dwell on things, moving past dates and occasions as though they were just another day on the calendar. Most of the time she missed out on things like Halloween or St. Patrick's Day, simply just forgetting. It peeved her, since she used to love those days, but work was consuming. And plus, who was she to spend her time with? There was no need for trinkets. Sure, mementos were nice, but they became tricky with time and memory.

'_Still no sign of the umbrella... it wasn__'__t like I was expecting him to ever come back. Better that he forgets me and we can both move on,__' _she thought logically. She had long since given up hope, if there was any, of seeing the man again. Though she personally didn't care (she told herself) she felt an odd twinge, something that the kind man had brought up again, slowly die. It was somewhat sad, letting the only person you had talked to for weeks, apart from Mr Forester, go so easily.

'_I don__'__t care. Nope, can__'__t. Though, it would be easier if I hadn__'__t told Mr Forester about the encounter,__' _she thought to herself all the while unpacking books in the back of the shop.

Robin had told Mr Forester about the encounter –partially because she had no idea what to do and he _had_ taken one of the shop's umbrella's– soon after he'd come home. She was feeling horribly...itchy... that day and had to share. Expectantly, Mr Forester had taken it quite well, but then, he might have taken it too well.

_Busying around his little kitchen, Mr Forester smiled at the willowy woman sitting at his breakfast table._

"_Oh come! A nice man comes waltzing into our shop and all you can do it give him a cuppa and some advice? You should have gotten to know him better, planned a date! He probably fancied you,__" __said the shop owner, proud at his employee as he sat down opposite Robin for their afternoon tea. Robin grimaced, she couldn__'__t even see Watson and herself hugging, let alone... well. And shouldn__'__t he have been more concerned that a stranger with obvious stress had just entered the shop? Robin had forgotten that Mr. Forester normally forgot to lock the shop__'__s door and it should have been her responsibility to watch it or lock it properly._

"_No, Mr Forester, just no,__" __was her stern reply, her face squinting in disgust. If she had problems just being around a group of people, how could she even consider __'__dating?__' __ That sort of time had passed a long time ago._

"_Bu-t~__" __began Mr Forester with a tune to his speech, but Robin wouldn__'__t even let him finish._

"_Nope. No. Can__'__t. No. Ew... Plus he__'__ll probably never even come back,__" __she told him sternly.__ "__It was just coincidence that he came in. And...well...I don__'__t think he__'__ll be visiting this area of London any time soon anyway...__" _

"_Why__'__s that?__"_

"ROBIN!" called the same voice as before, startling the poor woman out of her thoughts as she almost fell back from her attempt at reaching a box. Mr Forester had a bad habit of calling for her from no matter where in the shop.

Quickly Robin took out the last books from the shipping crate, sticking them on the trolley before rushing back into the shop. Some time must have passed since she had started stacking, but her mind must have slipped of again. It didn't feel as if a minute had passed. Mr Forester hadn't sounded distressed when he yelled for her, but he was excited. _'__And that is never a good thing when it involves yourself,__' _she reminded herself.

Exiting the back, she rushed to the front, lowering her head again while passing the tourists so that she wouldn't have to speak to them.

"Mr Forester?" she called, rounding the corner to the front desk. Though, who she saw instead made her squeak and back pedal, as she had done weeks ago.

"Miss Whittaker? Robin? Um, I've come to return the umbrella," said the voice of John Watson from around the corner, standing next to an excited Mr Forester with the before mentioned umbrella in hand.

'_I__'__ve really got to get used to meeting people,__' _thought Robin from around the corner. She gulped down some oxygen, rubbing her cheeks so they didn't look so sallow. _'__For goodness sake you have a computer for a brain but you can__'__t even greet a friend?__'_ her inner voice scolded. _'__Is he a friend now?__' _another voice asked. _'__Yeah, maybe,__'_ she replied before steeling herself.

"John Watson, how are you?" she asked as she rounded the corner. Her face was blank but her eyes twinkled mischievously, actually quite happy to see the friend. _'__Can I call him a friend?__'_ _'__Shush, we__'__ve just discussed this.__' '__Right.__'_

"Good, good. Actually, really well," replied the doctor, truth easily read from his face.

His features had more light to them, his skin peachier and his whole demeanour seemed more...chipper. A small smile graced his lips. He seemed like a changed (marginally at least) man from the first time she'd met him. He still carried his crutch, revealing his still present burden, but he seemed to have regained a small spring to his step. He held out a forthcoming hand to Robin who watched it warily before shaking it. _'__This man means no harm,__'_ she thought automatically.

Mr Forester saw that the two wanted to talk by themselves so he nodded quickly to John, who had apparently introduced himself to the shop owner before Robin had arrived.

"It seems so, you look a lot better Doctor," replied Robin. His smile was contagious, and she could hardly keep her own in. "You surprised me though, no one returns normally... but then again, I've never lent out an umbrella before," mumbled Robin hesitantly.

"Well, you helped me an awful amount last time. As a gentleman I couldn't just leave it like that. Plus, I'm pretty sure it would have been stealing if I didn't give the umbrella back," replied John cheekily.

"A-all I did was give you some shelter and an umbrella," interjected Robin quietly.

"Yeah, but you gave me some advice that's helped me a lot over the weeks. I'm sorry that I didn't come back earlier though...I've been kind of busy, I've been rethinking a lot of things," he finished with a bit of a blush and Robin could only think that he'd found someone.

It was obvious (by the crutch and the dark circles under his eyes) that he still held grief in his heart but now instead of smothering it for later he was beginning to let go. She could only estimate, for she rarely guessed, that he'd started contacting old friends as well. The new 'lady-friend' was also an improvement, (she could tell because really, what man blushes like that without someone on their minds) though Robin would have to ask if her thoughts were actually true. Robin couldn't help but feel a swell in her heart, not only for the man but also for the fact that she had helped someone. How long ago had it been, when she had done something for someone else as she was personally? A while, she presumed.

"So, what do you say? Would you like to go out for a cuppa?" asked John, handing back the umbrella.

That caught the young woman off guard. Robin stood silent, not sure what to do.

Being as introverted as she was, she'd never encountered such a situation, or even really thought about it. Or if she had, it was a long time ago. '_He__'__s not asking me out in romantic purpose, that__'__s for sure. As a thank you, then...I think. Oh, why do I have to be so awkward? What do I do? Yes. No. Say yes. But then I have to go out. No. I__'__ll lose a friend though,__'_ she thought rapidly, going through options. She teetered on her toes a bit, her willowy frame bending to one side as she thought. John watched her expectantly.

A couple of seconds passed in silence this way before she let a small "alright" slip from her lips, a smile tugging at her cheek, whether wanted or not. _'__What am I getting into this time?__' _

She took the umbrella from John's outstretched hand and he smiled broadly.

"Great! I know this little place a few blocks down. If you want we can go right now? If that's no trouble for you, I've got some free time at the moment so I just thought-…' babbled John, a smile on his face as he shifted from one foot to another. He apparently hadn't thought that Robin might be busy or wished not to talk to him again.

'_A gentleman, yes, but slightly short sighted,__'_ quipped Robin.

"W-well, I've got wor-" started Robin but was quickly cut off with another shout from Mr Forester, from the other side of the shop.

"YOU BEST BE OFF OR I'LL SACK YOU!" he called, making John laugh as Robin looked flustered, flinching at the loud noise, not being able to respond right away. She could be as witty as she like when talking to someone online but she was useless face to face. Finally, she mumbled out a little "you wouldn't dare," making John laugh harder.

"Ah-ho, well then," started John, clearing his throat. Robin smiled a bit, glad that the man seemed happier than last time. "It seems like you have no excuse now, if you want to keep you job."

"Well, I think I'd be able to live without it...I do have other means of income. Though, then I'd just stay in my room all day," considered Robin seriously, not really getting the joke.

John looked at her curiously before turning to put on his jacket, babbling a bit about how he'd been planning to come back to the shop earlier, but never had the chance.

Robin, on the other hand, stood still, umbrella in her arm as she worried about going out. _'__It__'__s not like I__'__m scared__'_ she told herself, _'__I__'__m just not used to...people. Yeah...people can hurt you anytime, people aren__'__t supposed to be nice, but__…' _She shifted nervously, her head buzzing a bit at the prospect of a friend. It was all so new, well, she had had friends before but they were long gone.

'_Oh, well, this is pathetic,__' _said the voice in her head. She'd been out around Baker Street hundreds of times since she moved here but normally she was alone. With someone else, she'd have to _talk_ and even walk into the public. Normally when going out, Robin would do her best to avoid the crowds, instead preferring the back alleys of London. It was a bit more dangerous, but her paranoia kept her alert and prepared. She was quite proud, in fact, as she had memorized almost all London's back ways and corners.

She just felt...awkward... these days, just a bit too lost when in the face of the public.

John shifted around; about to ask Robin something and saw she'd started staring off into space, her thoughts catching her unaware. He watched her; she reminded him of his old friend a bit but instead of a sharp gaze, she seemed far away, her deep eyes now a bit duller. She was also softer, actually admitting to caring and sentiment, even though she tried to hide it.

"You're not used to going about, are you?" he asked.

Robin could only shake her head, coming out of her thoughts and steeling herself a bit.

"No, I suppose not." She replied, reaching for her pea coat quickly and finally put away the umbrella she had been holding. "It's been a while...I've never really had occasion to really care."

"Well, that's fine. I can't really rush about anyway."

"Mmm, but ah... out of curiosity and a bit out of forewarning, what would we talk about?" asked Robin, confusing John.

"Well, uh, what do you mean?" he asked, leading Robin out the door and into the busy street. The raven woman immediately stiffened. It was a nice day, chilly but with a bit of sun peaking through the clouds. Sadly, this meant that a lot of people would be out, finding the time to go about whatever they needed doing. Robin would have a hard time to avoid the crowd, to say the least.

"I-I mean, well, what would we talk about? What do people normally talk about when going about with a friend?"

John was once again reminded of something the late detective had said on their first encounter. In fact, Robin reminds him a lot of him, especially her anti-social habits. But then most of the time (since meeting her) she was extremely different; she seemed innocent, empathetic, if not a bit hollow.

She was also very cold, like his old friend, but she didn't have that sharpness to her. He'd only seen her spirit spark for a moment, the first time he'd met her, and yet the flame that she'd shown was not the cold blaze that the detective had had. Robin's was of a temperate hue. He guessed that it would burn warmly; burning one if they came too close and all the same keeping them warm if they stayed at a distance. He'd seen her eyes spark just a bit at the end of their first encounter, as she gave her advice.

At the moment though, with all her tired eyes and hollow spirit, she looked just a bit lost while walking the street. He felt...protective of her... even after only meeting her once before. John could only muse about his ability of attracting odd friendship.

"Well. When I go out with my mates we normally talk about women and sports, along with whatever's happened to us," joked the doctor, getting a small hum from Robin who was walking next to him, again not really getting the quip. "But I don't think that that's what we're here for. When getting to know someone, you normally ask about their interests and about their jobs and so on." He continued.

"So we should ask each other questions to learn about the other. Somewhat like trading questions?" asked Robin, now a bit perturbed. She liked John, he seemed like a good chap, but she didn't want to tell him about her life. She never told anyone about her past, even keeping it a secret from Mr Forester. _'__But I don__'__t want to lie to John either; he__'__s been so nice to me.__'_

"Yeah, sure, how 'bout that? When we get to the caff we'll trade question for answer and all that," replied John, laughing a bit. "Just, I don't know, relax," John added, laughing. "It's not an interview."

"But, how would we know if the other was telling the truth?" asked Robin seriously, as though lying was an expected thing. And really, if she was to answer his questions...she would have to lie through her teeth.

"Well...normally people just don't lie to one another in these situations," answered John, a bit perturbed but also amused.

"So, we just have to believe that the other isn't lying to us?"

"Basically, and if they are then hopefully for a good reason," replied John, pausing before adding "of course you don't have to answer all my questions, if there's something you don't want to discuss and all,"

"Oh. That's reassuring," replied Robin evenly while trying to swivel past an oncoming couple that wasn't paying attention. John chuckled at the response but kept hobbling along. A touch of melancholy hit him again, Robin once again reminding him of . He'd often had to give his old friend advice, especially when he was in his 'man-child' mood. He wondered if talking with Robin too much wouldn't help him move on, but he figured there would always be something reminding him of his friend.

They soon fell into a calm silence, Robin focusing so she wouldn't be shoved around by the crowed, not having mastered walking with the flow yet. She'd occasionally look around, scanning the crowd. She felt like as if she was being watched, but then, it might just be from her paranoia. She always felt as if someone was watching her. John watched the world quietly, reminiscing. He walking much more easily, even with the cane.

Lately, he'd felt a lot better. It had been almost two years since 'the fall' and he'd started to finally accept and move on from the _his_ passing. Sure, it didn't mean that he wasn't still suffering and sometimes felt like staying in bed all day, but he'd started to learn how to rejoin his friends. He had taught the doctor how to live life to the fullest after he'd come back from his service, hurt and lost, but now that the detective was gone John had to relearn it all.

Robin had helped an awful lot, though. He didn't know why, whether it was just timing or the inclination in her voice, but she had helped. They'd only met for a few hours, completely by accident, but he felt that what she had said had finally struck something in him. It helped that she was willing to listen, really, as that was what he needed most these days.

"I think we're here" said Robin, startling John out of his thoughts. They'd finally rounded a street, made a left and now were coming up to a cafe with a little sign hanging from the top of its door.

"How'd you know?" asked John.

"Well, it's the only coffee shop en route that I've seen, except for the Starbucks and Speedy's. Also, we're approximately as far as you said we'll go so I'm guessing this is it," replied Robin dutifully, making John laugh.

"Smart," he commented, getting a mischievous smirk from Robin.

He walked over to the door and held it open for the willowy woman, who nodded in thanks.

"Alright, after you then."

...

**Author****'****s Note: **

HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEARS!

I decided to post an extra chapter as a present for the upcoming year.

Yep, so Robin's being more domestic now, and finally getting out of the house. She's wonderfully awkward, but we'll see how she does. There's a few chapters, like the last one, that are more for an affect then for length or content. It's still important for the plot, though. Just a bit of artistic ingenuity.

Tell me how you like the story so far. It's only just begun! Reviews are much appreciated and in the spirit of the season.

To the days to come, and I send my love to long ago,

Elleari


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 ****– ****Cheap Seats**

...

What Robin Learnt about John at the cafe:

Normal childhood

British to the end

He has siblings, Harry is short for Harriet

Harry has alcoholic issues

John's a doctor, obviously

Went to St Bartholomew's for his medical education

He is an _army _doctor, served in Afghanistan until he was wounded in the left shoulder

Gruelling experience, doesn't recommend it

'For Queen and Country'

Had a very hard time once he came back, lost contact with a lot of friends

He has a psychosomatic limp because of his experiences, probably related to shoulder injury. It went away, because of his friend...but it's come back.

He's a kind man, very caring

Has a blog, doesn't use it much anymore though

Loves tea and sweaters apparently, or at least people think that

Isn't one to disappoint...or at least wasn't.

Killed men, bad men (Robin is completely fine with it)

Jam on toast is his favourite breakfast, though he likes the classic continental breakfast as well

Likes to watch cheap telly in his spare time or with his old land lady (Mrs Hudson) but hasn't been in contact with her for a while. He's trying though.

Doesn't have a relationship but obviously has someone on his mind

Her name is Mary, she's a nurse

He works at a private practice that's recently opened. It's been doing very well since they officially opened. Nice little place. Robin got one of their business cards just in case.

He's doing well, he used to go to a therapist (he should technically still be going)

He used to have a best friend (Robin didn't stress the subject)

It's been hard on him since his friend left

They had the best of times

He still has a lot of friends, like Lestrade, (a DI) Molly Hooper, (a pathologist) and Mrs Hudson (kind Landlady)

He 'fell' because of a bad man

He misses him

She didn't learn it all from what he said, she's an observant person. Some of these things he went into great detail. He told the best tales. He told her a lot of stories as well, about the crimes he had helped solve and the trouble the pair of them had gotten into.

What John Learnt:

Nothing about her childhood or general past

Nothing about siblings or friends

She can apparently draws well, though she doesn't like to do it much as a hobby

She loves bond movies and is a bit of a nerd, loves Tolkien, Star Trek, Hannibal and Doctor Who (among others that she mentioned lightly)

She needs low prescription glasses sometimes for reading, she likes them. Her eyes get tired from work, though, so her eyes are deterioration.

She went to a community college, supposedly

She's extremely intelligent (he noticed)

'Specializes' in computer analysis

Is a self-proclaimed hermit (John couldn't help but chuckle at that)

Moved to London, previous location or date of move was not given

She likes it in London, already knows most of the colloquialisms

Tea drinker (she seems a bit thin?)

After a lot of persuasion, she let go of the fact that she once had a brother

Reads a lot, especially about mathematics and conspiracies

She tried not to lie, she really did. She didn't want to lie to him…but she couldn't tell John anything. So, conversation was a bit light on her part. Though John didn't think much on it, he was pretty sure that she wasn't telling him many things. He let it go, though, seeing though most of it wasn't something to push for anyway. Secretive she may be, Robin was still a good friend when it came down to it, whether she knew or not.

…

**Author****'****s Note:** So. By now some people have seen Season 3 of Sherlock. Well, I have at least. No spoilers, mind, but it was bloody brilliant. Well, I think it is, it's still kind of sinking in. (Edit: I've watched the second episode now. I am so very happy but also very, very scared.)

Anyway, with that new information, this story will be contradictory and an AU. I'm still thinking about writing in the episodes, but I don't think so. Maybe, we'll see. I might stick to the wedding in the show. I'm crap at weddings. But anyway, the story continues as it is and don't worry, it's a bit slow but a plot is there and it will hopefully be fascinating.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, all three of you.

No, this story isn't John/Robin but they do have a friendship. It will eventually be a Sherlock/Robin thing, but not for a while. Sherlock has to undead first.

And, finally, HA! I predicted a lot of things in the first episode. Ha, ahah! Ehem.

Cheers,

Elleari


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 ****– ****Mary **

...

Three or so weeks had passed since John had invited Robin to talk at the cafe. It was just before the two year anniversary of _the fall_ and John was getting anxious, worried about what memories and emotions the date would likely stir up. Trying to keep busy, he'd taken extra shifts where he worked. He'd volunteered at the local shelter, filled open shifts at partnered hospitals. It was a coping mechanism, but it had worked so far. He tried not to think about it, but this time of year was always the hardest. The clinic where he worked was the distraction. The hospital worked as a better one. That was where he found himself now, actually.

John barely remembered the first anniversary, probably because he had drunk himself under the table. Back then he was still alone, he had cut himself off from everyone. He had closed himself off completely, taking the whole week off. He hadn't met Mary, or Robin yet and he didn't have many other options for wasn't like he was good at talking about these things. He'd considered leaving London, finding a new path to carve out. He had such a need to escape but of course he couldn't. He was attached to London, for better or for worse, and truthfully he hadn't enough money saved up to go very far.

"Doctor Watson! You've got a scheduled patient soon, says he's got pains in his abdomen," someone called, shaking John out of his thoughts for the moment.

He was working a shift in the general hospital, hoping to earn a bit more for the rent and…well. Despite the fact that right after _the fall _he had moved into his old hotel room –not being able to stay in Baker Street- he'd recently found a new flat, one that he'd be able to rent in comfort with a bit of extra work here and there. He was still moving in, but it was a nice and airy flat with big windows and a modern design. It was nice.

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and mumbled, checking his phone to see if he had any messages. He was hoping for a distraction, hopefully from Robin maybe. She was good at distracting him. A distraction from a supposed distraction, but wasn't that life?

Recently, John had spent some time with his new friend, talking and laughing and trying to catch up. He'd told Robin almost everything about his time with Sherlock, finding that it helped him deal with the loss. He'd even touched on Moriarty, but it was hard, he was still so angry with the monster. He'd explained what had happened and how Moriarty had manipulated the world into thinking the detective was a fake. He didn't go into much detail, though, and his throat still caught when he tried.

Robin accepted it openly; listened to everything he said with an open ear and occasionally responded with some surprisingly wise advice, if she answered at all.

At the moment though, he had work to do.

"Coming!" he called back to the nurses, turning to hobble their way, telling himself to focus on the job at hand while frowning.

It wasn't really working out, his mind wandering to his new friend and his late one as well.

John bet that Robin probably knew more about him than most people, becoming a confidant and something close to a little sister to him. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do, but she just seemed trustworthy. Although, thinking back on it now he noticed that she'd barely told him more than what she'd said on their second encounter. _He_ would have told him that it was too foolish to trust someone so quickly. That is was stupid and that there was probably a bit secret. Maybe she was a criminal? Escaped convict?

"No. Shut up," he mumbled out, stopping to collect himself. No matter how much he avoided it or tried to deal with it, this week was probably one of the hardest he'd had all year.

He leant against the wall, just before the hallway leading towards the surgery department. Sighing and rubbing his sore eyes, he contemplated if he still had the time to cancel the appointments and just go home to sleep.

"John?" enquired a curious voice, startling the doctor. He shifted quickly to the left, coming face to face with a recognizable friend.

"M-Mary?" John asked, surprised to see the young nurse at the hospital. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I could ask the same, sir. I volunteer at the nursery once a week," replied the kind woman.

"Oh, well, um... I volunteered to work in the clinic. They were a bit understaffed and I –uh... needed the extra quid," mumbled John, blushing.

John had known Mary ever since opening the private practice two years ago, maybe a bit longer as he remembered seeing her around Bart's now and again. The clinic's manager, Stefan Jones, was adamant about hiring her. Though in the beginning he'd not paid much attention to the spry woman, he'd become good friends with her once opening up again.

Robin had pointed out to him that he probably had a crush on her, or at least was smitten, after their fifth encounter when he had gone on and on about how much Mary had helped him. He couldn't really help it though, she had helped a lot, cheering him at work and helping him quite openly. Robin might have given the initial push and was an open ear, but Mary was…well…Mary was just…kind.

She was a petite woman, a couple of years younger than he, with short cropped blond hair, a pixie face and dusty grey-green eyes. She seemed like an innocent type, kind and generous, but she also had a fierce temper. She was a woman practically out of the 20's, she was dainty and fair but had such a very witty and sassy spirit.

He'd once encountered her telling off one of the clinic's new recruits who had blamed someone else for his mistake. He was at least two feet taller than her, she being no taller than 5'5, but once she got going she was like a firecracker. John had watched curiously, watched her tell the young man off as he could only cringe and retreat once Mary was done scolding him.

After that, John had held so much respect for the woman he might have _accidentally_ fallen in love with her. Maybe it had happened earlier...but boy did he notice then.

Of course, he hadn't done anything about it yet, him being the way he was at the moment.

"Well, I'd think you'd normally have a nice wage, you being a doctor and all?" joked Mary.

"Ha, well, I've just gotten myself a new flat and I'm determined to keep up with the rent," replied John, his spirits lifting.

"You got one in the middle of London, didn't you?"

"...yeah. In my defence, it was the closest one to work so I thought I'd manage."

"I guess. But what are you doing laying about here? Don't you have a patient or something?" asked Mary, always the diligent worker.

"I –yeah, I'm just... collecting myself," admitted John, looking away a bit. Mary's eyes softened, concerned for her colleague and friend.

"Why?" she asked softly, adding "I –if you don't mind me asking."

"Well," began John, swallowing a bit. Mary knew about his 'moods' but he'd never had thought of telling her the whole story. Maybe she'd understand as well. "In a week it will be the anniversary of my best friend's death..." he finally admitted.

"Oh my, I'm sorry. The Consulting Detective, right?" asked Mary, not wasting a beat. John's head snapped up; how would she know? _'__It__'__s not that hard to figure out, you dunce,__' _he replied to his thoughts, everyone probably knew.

"Do you really expect me to see you for at least a year at work, all sullen and depressed, and not ask? It was all over the news anyway. Seriously," continued Mary sharply, hands on hips.

"I –sorry."

"Come on, no need to apologize. He seemed like a git but really, he was a genius. I think. At least that's what my cousin said," Mary softened, putting a comforting shoulder on the good doctor, comforting him.

"Your cousin?" he asked.

"Yeah, she met him once; he helped her on a case."

"Which one?"

"Oh, I don't even remember. It was before you met him though, years ago," replied Mary with a laugh, trying to remember.

"I can't even imagine how he would have been back then."

"Horrid. Brilliant but horrid."

John couldn't help but laugh even more, imagining a younger genius running about London, grumpy like an old man and probably carrying around his skull to talk to. For once his thoughts of his old friend where not regretful or melancholy, just a simple mixture of fantasy and comedy.

"You don't think he was a fake then?" he asked once they'd stopped laughing.

"Gods no, I don't know how he'd be able to fake that entire career. Say, have you heard of the movement? You're not alone you know, there's a lot of people out there that believed him to be genuine."

"The movement?" asked John, a bit breathless.

"Yeah, 'I Believe in Sherlock Holmes,' it's all over London; you've just got to look. Recently, though I can't say it's from them, all the big news websites that had articles written negatively about the detective were hacked and for a whole day all they read was 'I believe' with his little silhouette below. It was actually really cool... and pretty artistic."

"W –wow. Inconvenient though." John didn't know what to say. It took great skill to hack into all of those websites, not to mention coordinate everything. "Did they find out who did it?"

"Nope. Not even a speck of evidence apparently. The hack was so clean that the police didn't know where to start so they had to drop it."

John sat down, frowning a bit and overwhelmed at the fact that he wasn't really alone. He'd thought once he'd fallen, no one would listen to some daft, grief-stricken doctor. Of course he knew there were a few supporters, but from his blog he had just started to assume that the nay-sayers were winning out.

"John," started Mary in a soft lull as she sat down next to him. "I'll be here for you, okay, no matter what."

"You don't have to," he replied, trying not to blush. He was a soldier for goodness sakes; he was already relying on Robin too much.

"No, no. John, I'm here and if you want I can always be,"

"Wha –"

"Just call John, don't worry."

John paused, the woman he had discovered he seemed to like was giving him her help. Maybe he finally was moving on, maybe he didn't have to be alone any more.

"Ah, well, if you'd like... That is…I-um. If I need you I could call and invite you out,…yeah. Um, we could find a nice place we could talk...maybe have d-dinner. That is… if you w-want?" he said, trying to be brave. What had happened to 'Three continents Watson?' Geez. It was Mary's turn to blush, realizing what he was asking.

"Alright."

"Wha -?"

"Call me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"How about this Friday?"

"Whenever you need me. Now get to your patient! You don't want to be late."

"Okay, yeah, alright. Good, yeah."

"Bye!" With that, Mary turned and hurried off, smiling and biting her lip. John was left dumbfounded. Had he just asked Mary on a date? Or had Mary just asked him? What was going on with his life at the moment? It wasn't the first time he'd hit on someone, but this was different, a lot different.

He looked down at his watch; ten minutes before the patient was due.

"Bugger-!" he exclaimed before rushing off in the other direction.

…

"Robin," said John, sitting on a bench with a coffee in the June air.

"Yeah?" Robin sat next to John, a tea in her hand. She had come to chat with him after his shift had ended, just to pass the time.

"I think I asked Mary on a date today."

"You think?" Wasn't the person going on a date with someone normally aware us such a thing?

"Well, we're going on a date. I just don't really know who asked who. I think I asked her."

"Good on you, mate. Figured out what you are gonna do?" Robin had had a suspicion that John liked Mary. She hadn't met her yet, but John was a fantastic story teller. These days, though, his stories only consisted of one of two people.

"I'll marry her someday. That's what."

John was certain, and Robin could only smile at him brightly. He really was moving on, she just hoped she wouldn't miss it.

...

**Author's Note: **

It's kind of fantastic when my version of Mary fits perfectly with BBC's version. The only thing I had to do it change her hair colour from strawberry blonde.

Anyway, last chapter was a quick one. It's a summary. For now the story consists of moments in the characters' lives, normally ones that help move the plot forwards or are for character development. Plot will arrive soon.

Cheers,

Elleari


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 ****–**** Goddamn Christmas**

...

Time passed and summer soon passed into fall, which in turn passed into winter. The anniversary passed, and with the help of Mary, John had made it through relatively well. Robin continued to be a good companion whenever they had the time to meet up. John finally moved into the new flat properly, his work kept him occupied and all was well. Him mind wandered less and less to the past, although he promised himself he wouldn't just forget.

Nothing significant had occurred during those few months, and nobody really felt the time pass. It was just a sort of mundane cycle, just a normal sort of living. Habits stayed the same and the newest additions to everyone's life were easily slotted into place. Things were beginning to settle into a comfortable routine for all.

And, even though she continued to worry, Robin couldn't help but accept and relish the new addition to the life she had created. Sure, she kept quiet, worked in the shadows and still kept to herself mostly but now she had a friend. Her heart didn't feel as numb as it had once been and she felt just a bit more confident. Her days weren't filled just with work, work, work anymore. No matter how cryptic her job was, it wasn't really all that interesting. A lot less cloak and dagger than you'd think, and so for her it was just another thing to do in life.

With the transition into winter, one of Robin's favourite seasons, she couldn't help but feel her spirits lift. Life was more brisk, moods changing along with the weather. This was the season why humans had perfected the home, why they had craved fire. Winter was both chillingly refreshing and cozily warm and comfortable. Well, that is, until the festivities drew nearer.

...

Robin Day Whittaker had a problem, a big problem. Or at least a situation that to her seemed like an awfully big problem.

See, Robin never celebrated holidays, finding them arbitrary and somewhat depressing as she never had anyone to actually celebrate them with. She also almost always forgot about them. Left to her own devices, she normally spent any free time given to her holed up in her flat either working or finally just letting go. She'd spend a holiday re-watching Lord of the Rings or maybe reading a new stack of books. Or maybe learning a new hobby or skill from the internet, whether it be candy making, fencing or cutting hair. Every once in a while, maybe every two years or so, she'd go to the countryside for a quiet week off, depending on what country she was in at the time. Most of the time she would head down to the shop and spend time there, but never did she find the need to celebrate such holidays as Christmas, Easter or anything else thrown her way.

Why should she celebrate when these days just made her remember the fact that she was alone and had no one left in her life? She had had no more friends she dared associate with and she would be damned if she let herself cry over her past. The festivities themselves were becoming more and more retched each year anyway, the market over commercializing everything, commercials forcing product after product down people's throats. Everyone was acting as if they cared, as if they should suddenly care about all those charities, instead of the rest of the year. There weren't any traditions left, no more singing or dancing. Bleh.

Maybe at the beginning it was hard, but now it was second nature for Robin to just _ignore_ it all.

Even Mr Forester knew not to disturb her during these times, as she had enough to deal with on her own. He learnt quickly that asking about her reasons or even mentioning the holidays left Robin in a sour mood.

Now, though, Robin had something that she hadn't let herself have in a long time. She had John; she had a real, proper friend. She had someone to get gifts for and to share in the merriment, as her own spirit was too frozen to ever fill with cheerfulness without an aid. But they could sing and laugh at all the stupid programs on TV and what they were doing. John had started talking more and more about his friends, about Lestrade and people like Mike Stanford. She wasn't loath to admit it, not at all, having a friend was nice.

But then again, having a friend brought new responsibilities. At the moment said friend had invited her to a Christmas party that some of his friends had organized; this now being the reason behind Robin's distress.

"I don't want to go. I won't go. I can't. Don't want to," chanted Robin as she paced her flat's living room. Her lanky figure manoeuvred around the subjective coffee table as she walked in circles, thinking as she mused her raven hair with one hand.

She knew she should just calm down, to anyone normal this would have been a completely normal occurrence, but at the moment Robin could only be reminded of her 'anxiety attacks' she occasionally had when she was overly stressed or scared. What if she got one at the party?

'_It__'__s not like I__'__m having one now though, haven__'__t had one in a while really. I__'__d be a lot quieter if I was having an attack, my vision and mind slurring,__' _she thought consoling to herself.

Stopping, she stared off into space, thinking again.

"But I have to go, don't I? That's what friends do, don't they? He invited me and I have to go..." she murmured in argument. She was worried and nervous about meeting John's friends but she also knew that deep down she wanted to go and see how a party with him and his friends would be like. _'__ARGH! Why am I having such contradicting thoughts all of a sudden! I used to be quiet, calm, but now look at me...__'_

"But if I go, then I have to buy a present, don't I? What do I buy for him?" she asked no one in particular, turning to the window with a hand poised in question.

"I could get him something simple, or just give him a medical book," she reasoned, picking up her glasses and popping them on her nose.

"But then I'd still have to go to the party."

"Can't I just leave the present at his house?"

"No, it might get destroyed or stolen. And besides, that fairly rude,"

"But where does he even live? Oh, but I have the address somewhere."

"I don't even know any of his other friends... he mentions them but it doesn't mean I actually want to meet them."

"But I should... he'd appreciate it. He's a good friend. Friends are good."

"When in the world did I get so sentimental!? Blimey, I've lasted thirteen years as a hermit and now I meet one friend and I'm back to worrying about what people thing and how I should act and of what people will think...and social events...and I feel...warm! Fuzzy! Excited –_Adventurous!_" she hissed out, perturbed and confused. She knew she was probably putting too much thought in this but she couldn't help it.

Then again, talking to herself wasn't healthiest thing to do either...

"I wonder if Mary was invited...I'm curious to meet her..."

'_There you go, you know too many people! Even by name you know too many. You know why we do this, you know why...__'_ her conscious scolded, making Robin scowl deeply.

"And yet nothing has happened ever since I came to London,"

"I was never a really social person though..." she finally mumbled out, a feeble argument against herself. Silence took over for a while as Robin gazed down at the street below, busy with pedestrians. Snow fell lightly onto the street, melting soon after hitting the ground. The air was chilly, the cold radiating through the glass of the window. Her form cast a crooked silhouette against the window, her frame slumped with exhaustion. It had been a very long day.

"MERDE!" yelled Robin finally, throwing her hands up in unrest, once again proceeding to clamour about like a caged deer.

"I'll give John one of my medical tombs and a sweater, go to the party, stay fifteen minutes as I try not to bring any attention to myself and then once enough time has passed I'll sneak out of the place and just rush back home," she finally reasoned, a plan quickly forming in her mind once her brain cleared. She wasn't one for parties, but she knew that etiquette had to be applied now and again. And, if she was going to put herself in an unwelcome situation, she would at least plan enough to be in control of her situation. Who knows, she might even enjoy it.

Shhh, stop such traitorous thoughts.

Quickly Robin whipped her thin frame around and rushed out the fire escape, swooping down the stairs and in through Mr Forester's window. (Oddly enough, this action was so well practiced that even though Robin was extremely awkward and un-athletic it still remained a fluid and accurate action.)

Not startled in the slightest way, the elderly man looked up from his position in his reading chair, an eyebrow raised in question as he set down his old book.

"Mr Forester, what is the proper fashion of dress in which a female would embark with to a Christmas party?" she asked in a rush, her back stiff as she tried to act as dignified as she could.

This time Mr Forester did look surprised, a mischievous glint entering his eyes.

"You've decided to go to the party, haven't you?" he asked.

Robin nodded shyly, hating that she had to ask for help. She'd been taught most of the proper etiquette for these things when she was a child but since then she'd...become rusty.

"Well then dear... you'd normally would wear a nice dress, nothing too fancy, and maybe put some makeup on."

"Makeup?" questioned Robin, slightly concerned now. She rarely cared enough to even comb her hair. She also didn't own any dresses, her fanciest cloth was just a pair of jeans and maybe a blazer. (If she hadn't burnt it or used it as a rag as some point.)

'_Oh dear, oh dear. So much effort!__'_

"Oh yes, don't worry about that, just a bit of eye shadow I think," soothed Mr Forester, which made Robin wonder how he knew so much about these feminine things.

"Um...c-could you help me find a dress?" asked Robin, embarrassed to no end. "I don't think I have anything appropriate in m-my own closet."

"Of course! I have a niece that might have something for you. We can go tomorrow and pick something out. I'm due for a visit anyway and she lives just a few minutes away." Mr Forester was delighted that he could finally help his young tenant, her stubborn shell cracking a bit in front of him.

"G-good. I think. Do I have to?" asked Robin, fidgeting.

"Oh, of course dear! Don't worry; it'll all turn out well, no doubt."

Robin could only nod silently, her shoulders slumping a bit as she relaxed and headed back up the fire escape. She didn't feel as nervous as before but now she just felt...odd. It's hard to understand the thoughts and feelings of someone who, for the longest time, had done no more in life than...exist. Now though, her stomach flipped at a new adventure, if it could be called that. Maybe there would be singing?Or dancing? They wouldn't be able to drag Yule logs, but there would a tree, no doubt. There would be a lot of food too, wouldn't there? Maybe she'd have a bit. Just a bit.

In her mind she reviewed all that she would have to do before the get-together. Primarily, going out and buying a gift for John...and maybe even Mary. It was only a few days away.

Robin was coming out of her shell and making a new life for herself and oddly enough she didn't detest it.

Well, not entirely.

…

"Hey, where are you?" asked John, his phone to his ear while he sat in his little kitchen. Mary practically danced about, carrying a carafe of mulled wine for everyone present at the little christmas party.

"_I__'__m here, I__'__m here! I__'__m just walking up the building__'__s stairs. Meet me at the stairs, alright?__" _came the answer of Robin, who was late for the Christmas party.

"I can just buzz you up," suggested John.

"_I-I__…__um. I__'__m not gonna stay. I__'__ve, uh..I__'__ve got this, thing. I c-can__'__t s-stay-,__" _stammered out Robin, her face heating up from the guilt, her cheeks already rosy from the cold night. "Would you just meet me down stairs?" The last request was asked in a whisper through the phone.

"Alright, alright Robin."

Five minutes later saw John and Robin both in the little front hall of John's apartment complex. Robin was bundled up tightly with a whole winter's complex, finishing off with a long green wool coat, scarf, and fuzzy hat. John had an atrocious Christmas jumper on which made Robin giggle at the sight of if. She had brought along a whole bag of gifts for the people at the party, she had even dressed up a bit (she had forgone the dress completely though) with the thought that maybe she would get enough courage to actually go in. She didn't have that courage.

"You sure?" asked John.

"I'm sorry, I just can't. It's not my place and you know how I am with people." Robin hated that she had to make an excuse, but she just couldn't.

"And the presents?"

"Well, you told me who was attending and I thought the least I could do was get gifts. They're your friends and I'd love to meet them…I just can't. Christmas isn't a good time. They're just all there a-"

"It's okay, Robin. I get it. I'm glad you came over at least," consoled John, seeing his friend start to panic a bit, trying to explain her anxiety. He got it, though. She was the way she was and he was fine with it. He'll introduce her to his friends slowly.

"Merry Christmas, John."

"Merry Christmas, Robin."

...

**Author's Note: **Just a bit of a 'Happy Holidays' I suppose. A bit belated, I guess, though.

Reviews and comments are always welcome.

Cheers,

Elleari


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 ****– ****Guilt Trips**

...

A year or so had passed since Robin had met John.

Winter had turned to spring, which in turn turned to summer and then once again back to autumn. Now the trees where alight with the colours of the season and the air had begun to turn crisp. It rained more and more in the city of London, often turning the sky grey and muggy but on occasion the sun would shine bright in the sky and the world would blaze just a bit brighter.

Not everyone was enjoying the weather, though.

Robin sat slumped over in her plush office chair, her head resting precariously on the palm of her hand as her arm was propped up against the seat's leather arm. Computer screens flickered in front of her, a cold cuppa sat next to one of her keyboards as another five or so cups littered her desk.

She was asleep as she had had to work for two straight days. Her mind was exhausted and her bones creaked in her hunched frame. She mumbled quietly in her sleep, eyebrows furrowing in what could only be another nightmare. She'd been plagued with them for some years, but this one today was different, something new and something definitely more terrifying.

Robin wouldn't admit it, but she had pushed herself so hard just to avoid such a circumstance. She knew she had to sleep but she didn't want to, knowing that nightmares would be the only things to greet her tired mind, so she pushed herself as she normally did. She was always looking for a way out of dreams, even going as far as taking medication. Sleep was kinder then, in the complete darkness.

Diversion was the key to her existence for her mind wandered when she let it slip from her ever constant watch. Robin knew that it wasn't the healthiest way of living; people would say to confront your fears, to accept them. Well, what happened if your dreams were so monstrous and overwhelming that they would rot you from the inside out if you let them? Robin knew she was running, but for a very good reason. She wasn't strong enough to heal herself, to fight.

John had once told her that his old friend suffered something similar as well, or was it that he didn't sleep so his mind would be able to keep working? He didn't like to sleep, for the work, was it? She didn't really care at the moment, as she was asleep.

Still, it seemed that two days of almost non-stop labour was her limit this time, as not even an earthquake could wake her. Obviously distraction had failed her as work grew too taxing on her mind, as rare as is happened. John was off on a weekend 'date' with Mary Morstan and so Robin couldn't find distraction in her friend. Mr Forester didn't need to be concerned, and he'd just scold her for working so much. Not even a good book could distract her forever, not even stretching or yoga helped. Robin was left to drift, books and other distractions becoming secondary to the call of slumber. She did enjoy sleeping, tremendously actually, as it was a state where nothing existed and no worries were taken along. Rest, though, came with side-effects for Robin.

'_YOU LIED...__' __called an invisible voice in Robin__'__s dream. __'__You don__'__t trust me? I__'__ve shown you everything, everything, EVERYTHING! You couldn__'__t even tell me who you really are...I trusted you and you can__'__t even give me even your real job...your real name.__'_

'_P-please, understand! I-I can__'__t... I can__'__t tell anyone... it__'__s dangerous!__' __called Robin__'__s dream-self, her form surrounded by darkness as she whipped around to find the voice. She knew who__'__s it was. She knew every voice that ever spoke to her, though most where normally just ghosts. _

_Robin tried to reach out, tried to find something to cling to. __'__Please... John...please...__" __She grasped at the darkness as it turned solid for a moment, only to slip between her finders. _

'_No, no. Why should I trust you, why should I care about you if you don__'__t care enough to tell me anything.__"_

'_I CAN__'__T! I can__'__t or else you__'__ll end up like the others.__'_

'_Tell me what you do; tell me what you do all day locked up in your flat. I don__'__t see why you can__'__t tell me that,__' __taunted the dream voice. Its tone grew sickly sweet as invisible hands started to grapple at Robin__'__s body. This sickly voice had John__'__s tone, but it wasn__'__t him. It couldn__'__t be the kind doctor, the one with the brilliant smile. And yet, Robin couldn__'__t get that through her mind as the nightmare rampaged._

'_Please, don__'__t... don__'__t make me talk...don__'__t make me remember,__' __pleaded Robin, her form racking as she started to panic. It was hard for her, she had to admit, for as much as she wanted to forget, a lot of her daily activities still made her _remember.

_Even in her dreams she couldn__'__t cry, tears now foreign to her, but she was coming close. _

'_What, your work is so horrible?__' __taunted the voice, now a faint whisper. Robin reached out, trying to draw it back in, the darkness starting to engulf her as it left. Rage suddenly flared in her core, a weak fire, fuelled by spite and suffering._

'_YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I DO?!__' __she called out suddenly, drawing the voices attention._

'_I__'__M A PROFESSIONAL HACKER! A CON ARTIST OF THE DIGITAL WORLD. AN ANALYST. OKAY! IS THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU! I LOVE WHAT I DO, B-But I-it__'__s...dangerous, it__'__s really risky...i-__' __there, she had said it. She hacked for a living, or at least she had. It was complicated. __'__I stay in my home and avoid everyone so I can work on the computer...__' __she added weakly, anger fading as she waited for the voices response. _

_She had this dream many times in the past few days, always the same voice (one that resembled John Watson__'__s) asking why she was so unfaithful, so afraid and so mistrusting. It wasn__'__t the scariest nightmare she__'__d ever had, but it was extremely disturbing and hit too close to reality. She had never gotten so far into it as she had tonight, though. It was the first time actually admitting what she did to the voice against her pleas and reasoning against it._

'_A hacker? Somebody that goes around and destroyed cyberspace? Takes codes? Destroys secrets?! You lot have wrecked so many lives! You__'__re a manipulator, a spy! You create chaos!__' __said the voice again, now disgusted, as it relied on the horrible stereotype that haunted many hackers, no matter what they did. Faint taunts of children__'__s voices floated in the background. __'__Cheater- cheater,__' __they called. __'__Despicable profession! That__'__s got to be illegal what you__'__re doing, y__'__know. Going around snooping like that! There are se-__' _

_The voice was cut short by an echoing gunshot. A simple shot, muffled by the shadows, which disturbed Robin to her very core. A final whimper escaped from the voice as it faded forever. That finally cracked Robin as she let out a desperate cry, her form shaking as the darkness finally engulfed her and the voice of John Watson seemed to join with the other she heard. _

'_T-they, they__'__re just ghosts. Mon Dieux, they are just ghosts, all just ghosts in the end...__' __she mumbled out between her struggling as blackness finally crept over her face. _

Reality rushed back to Robin, her body left gasping in the after-effects of the nightmare. Her body lashing back with the force of the violent awakening, she shuddered and hiccupped desperately. She quickly braced herself against her desk as tremors shook her slender body. Her head hung, she blinked several times as her mouth stretched open in an attempt to stop invisible tears from falling, her eyes wide and misty.

It took several minutes for her to calm down, the last images of the dream dissipating as she controlled her breathing.

Robin let her head hit her desk, rattling some of her old tea mugs, as she groaned silently.

"Blo-ody hell...why..." she mumbled out finally. Soon she knew that washes of guilt would over take her, her mind already nagging her as the moral of the nightmare started took hit her.

"I know, I know... I've got to tell him eventually..." she muttered to herself, shifting now to go and check her computer.

She knew she wasn't being honest with John, and it was _actually_ (probably) killing her. She felt horrible, and she knew that he'd already basically had told his whole life story to her and she _should_ probably reciprocate some trust but her life wasn't so _simple_ as his was. Alright, his was very complicated as it stood, but she just…she couldn't. Sure, right now she didn't have much going on but even the simplest thing, like the knowledge of her job, would cause her great inconvenience and would put her one friend in deep trouble. She had _secrets_ that she just needed to keep quiet. By now, she had so many secrets it was just easier to hide as much as possible, since it would take too long for her to sort it all out in her head.

'_That__'__s a story for another time, though...__'_ she reminded herself.

Her knowledge was powerful and so also very deadly. It didn't really belong to someone who hadn't the reserve to protect herself, but what could she do? She had a bad habit of getting just a bit too curious. So, when all was said and done; yes, she was a professional hacker, but no, she wasn't some evil mastermind. But, yeah, she probably had secrets that would kill.

'_I__'__m pretty talented though... well...the quartermaster is...__'_ she thought as she scanned through some reading on her screen. She sought out for a distraction, maybe a new request or a rumour that had climbed its way up the grapevine to her. Finally she checked the last 'report' and sighed in dejection.

"Guess I can't tell him yet..." she mumbled, the information on screen apparently being counterproductive. She would just have to keep dealing for the moment.

She silently thumped her head against her desk, mumbling even more until a foreign noise interrupted her thoughts.

"P-Phone...?" she asked no one, not used to the devices ringing. She didn't really have anyone to talk to, except John.

"Must be John then..."

She rummaged around her desk quickly before remembering that she'd stuffed in between some books on her shelf the other day. Hurriedly fumbling over to where the phone was, she grabbed the phone and quickly pushed the answer button before John would hang up.

"'Ello?" she asked, even though she was sure it was her friend.

"Robin! Hey, how's it going?" asked John on the other side of the line. _'__Knew it,__' _thought Robin quickly, obviously recovered enough from the nightmare that had shaken her just moments ago.

"I'm...good... John, you know I'm fine. What's up?" asked Robin, not one to waist idle chatter.

"Well, I was wondering, I'll be back in London on Monday and I thought if you wouldn't mind meeting up so we could talk."

"Sure, I'm always free." Oh, right. He had been out of town over the weekend. Robin smiled, hoping the doctor had enjoyed himself.

"Great! I was just wondering because we don't normally meet up on Mondays... I don't want to disturb you, I just need to ask you something and I wouldn't have the time later… It's nothing serious. Well, no, it kind of is. But nothing to worry about! It's just this idea and I was thinking about it while I was off and I don't really know what to do, " babbled John. Robin immediately picked up on John's mood, something was on his mind, as he didn't normally act so hesitant. It was nice of him to call beforehand but he knew that all he would have to do is text and Robin would be there.

"John, what's up? Are you okay?" she asked immediately.

"I'm fine, really. I've just got this really big...thing... and I need some advice."

"You couldn't ask Mary?"

"I did, and... Well, a second opinion's always good."

"Must be a big decision then."

"Yeah... kind of."

There was a pause from Robin's side of the phone. She was rubbing her eyes tiredly, shaking herself to have the courage to support her friend. He needed her willpower more that she needed it herself.

"I'll be there John."

"Thanks, you're a really good friend. See you soon," finished John, letting Robin hang up easily.

The kind doctor's last words sung back in Robin's memory as she subconsciously brought the phone up to her chest. She bit her lip, hating that she was so dependant now on someone, but glad too that the phone-call had given her some reassurance. No…but what else? Shame, yes, of course. John's words had reassured her, let her ground herself, but just reminded her of her failure. She knew she would have to do something soon. One part of her told her to run away, to go back into hiding and to forget everything. Screw her work, bugger her flat. She'd be fine. But…she was just one woman. And insecure one. All she had done was drink tea and work before she'd come to London. Now she had friends.

"Oh, bugger."

Still, a nagging guilt built in her chest, a gnawing at her hollow heart.

Her thoughts where only interrupted minutes later when her phone dinged with an incoming text. Looking at the phone, puzzled, she opened the screen only to read two very odd words.

_Guard him._

Huh?

…

**Author's Note: **So, yep, a dream sequence. I always find them helpful in character development (there's been a lot of that so far) and it reveals things enough, although contextually it can still be mysterious. Anyway. Yeah, dreams are helpful.  
Admittedly, Robin is a pretty broken character. You'll find out why eventually. Probably later on, in the sequel or later. I also like to think of her as a bit of a sacrificer. She has all these problems to deal with and her personality really isn't suited for adventure, but she still tries. There will be a lot of inner conflict as she tries to justify with herself what she's doing and why. John craves danger and adventure and Robin has to kind of come along for the ride.

Also, exam time is upon me (us?) and so my updating is getting sporadic. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you all, but I'm just really busy. Physics is a bugger. Anyway, I have much to do and little time to do it so I might not update for, oh...a week or two. I'll try and squeeze something in. We'll see.

Thanks for reading! Reviews and comments are really appreciated. Thank you to everyone (all seven of you) for reviewing. Also, thank you for faves and follows.

Good luck if you have exams like I do.

SHERLOCK SEASON 3 WAS BRILLIANT. I'll probably actually try and incorporate some stuff from it into my series as it goes on, just to keep it a little more fateful I guess.

Cheers,

Elleari


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 ****– ****Life Goes On**

...

On one particular fall day, London was blessed with fine weather, if not a bit chill, giving most people the incentive to go and explore the last colours of the season. People walked around the suburbs, strolled around the streets and lingered just a bit longer around the parks than usual. Many sat on the park benches, admiring the trees. The normally grey surroundings were a bit brighter by the weather and the normally dull leaves on the trees now wafted like little striking banners. But not all park-goers and bench sitters where admiring the scenery, especially not a certain young woman wrapped in a spindle of warm layers, trying to fight off the chill.

Robin sat on that lovely day on a bench just underneath an old poplar tree in Hyde Park, waiting for Doctor Watson to arrive while she calculated the approximate speed of the leaves falling. He'd contacted her yesterday about meeting him today after she'd awoken from the strange nightmare. She hadn't been reluctant to meet him, though his choice of scenery didn't really put Robin in the best of moods. Fall wasn't her favourite time.

Oddly enough he had persuaded her to go out to meet him today, promising that some fresh air would do her some good. After a few moments of persuasion over the phone she had caved, sighing dramatically. And went to get ready by bundling up with a sweater and a warm coat. He really didn't have to convince her, but she did have to tease him somehow.

Looking back on it, she figured that John's cheery attitude had persuaded her to go out. Over the past year he'd been able to get back the spring in his step, his old demeanour returning after so long in mourning. He no longer grieved as he had finally accepted his friend's death, though he still seemed to hold some burden of memory. His limp was still there, the only reminder of his past and, as it turned out, a motivator to keep on living to the fullest. He still had nightmares, but that hadn't really changed ever since he came back from the war. It also helped that he was 'going steady' with a certain Mary Morstan and he had finally established himself fully at his practice. Though his apprehensive voice had worried Robin, once he'd called again his happy mood had helped quell any anxieties Robin had.

'_A whole year...__'_ thought Robin as she waited silently in the park, her thoughts drifting away from the phone conversation finally.

Though John had changed for the better over the year, Robin, on the other hand, hadn't. Not in the slightest, or not really anyway.

She had gained a friend, yes, but she knew that it was short lived and soon she would have to move on from her life there in London. She was still awkward and introverted, paranoia playing at her mind whenever she was alone. She lived a solitary life and her emotions where dulled by the constant input from the internet and her lack (or overdose) of stimuli. Her work consumed her constantly when she wasn't out with John or occasionally meeting up with him and one or two of his mates. Honestly, she didn't really care to meet most of his so called 'mates', most of them were colleagues and obviously nor all that close to John, and by association, were oblivious to Robin. Her social life revolved solely around John and yet her life was barely connected to his. Oh, she'd go out for a stroll or to the library or something of the sort now and again, but those things were always done in solidarity. The problem was, though, that with this new friendship Robin had also gained the horrible nagging guilt that causes her so much grief. And that grief often manifested into her nightmares. Robin knew that he knew barely anything about her, his only fault was in being too trusting and not asking enough questions, and yet she felt some sort of homage towards the kind doctor. She knew by now she was attached to him, he was like a brother and she would do anything for him. But the guilt ate her silently and she knew she would soon have to either tell him or just move on.

"...but it's n-nice having a friend. That'll just make cutting ties with him all the harder..." she mumbled as she sat on the bench, gazing warily around the park.

She knew that she didn't deserve such a good friend as John. She was a selfish, distant and confusing person. And yet she still stayed and helped John, watching as he moved on from his grievance, a thing that she had never done.

Robin had planned to tell John on that particular autumn day that she was going to move on, find a new city to live in for the moment. Well, that was the plan anyway. Maybe then the guilt would finally stop.

Life in London was getting too comfortable and she had to move on. She'd tell him eventually... she'd planned on telling him today but had reasoned against it, as she'd done every other time.

'_It__'__s too soon, too sudden anyway. I-I still want to see that he won__'__t relapse in to depression... or if he needs support if he breaks up with Mary... or...or,__'_ one of her conflicting voices kept saying. _'__Okay... he__'__s probably marrying Mary but still...I would like to see them marry, and I could maybe go to the wedding...or maybe help him more...or,__'_

"I'll get to it eventually...I kind of like London in the winter...I just need to get to it..." she mumbled further, gazing up at the tree above her as leaves floated down from it.

Or she could tell him the truth.

No…

She put her thoughts aside and glared at the poor tree, annoyed at the world and all in it (again) as leaf after leaf floated down and landed precariously on top of her hat fitted head.

Mumbling, she started to hum quietly. "Leaves are most beautiful when they're about to die, when they're about to fall from trees, when they're about to dry up..." recited Robin under her breath, chatting with the trees.

"You know you are all dying just a bit. Dying and wilting. But unlike us humans you lot are going to bloom again in the spring. Human's don't really do that," she commented half-heartedly, thinking a bit before continuing.

"Well, maybe that's just me. John, he's my friend, he's been able to regain his life. See, he's been through some trauma...twice. I guess I have too, but that's a story for another time. Anyway, he seems to be getting past his trauma, I can't though, I'm a bit too far gone for that…or maybe I'm just forgetting,"

"You know, he's actually really late. We were to meet a half an hour ago at least...he better have brought some tea for his troubles. I could be working on one of my 'projects' or maybe catching up on some drawing...I've taken up drawing again. Haven't done that in a while. Maybe I should take up leaf pressing. Hrmm…he didn't have to make me come out if he was going to be late. It's chilly out here…how can you stand it?" suddenly Robin narrowed her eyes, glaring intently at the trees around her, still talking to the one above.

"I really hate autumn, I really do. Bad memories and really, everything is just _dying..._But then...I did meet John around this time last year, so I guess the season has its upsides," finished Robin, looking up at the old poplar as if expecting a response that would never come.

"Miss, are you okay?" asked an old voice, sounding more like the rumbling of wagons, or maybe trucks, or maybe really, really, thunder. Thunder with a cold? Robin didn't have much time to register the voice as she realized what was actually happening. Robin jumped; she hadn't expected anyone to overhear her and for a split second she thought that maybe the trees where responding. Turning her head, she was met with the sight of a crookedly tall old man. _'__Alright then, so I__'__m not crazy...or at the very least the trees aren__'__t talking.__'_ Though most of his eyes were covered by an old fisher's hat, she could easily see his white wispy beard and curly, ashen hair. He seemed to sway, like an old tree in the wind. Maybe he was one of the trees. He was a bit like and Ent.

"Ah, y-yeah. I'm fine...just t-talking to the trees," replied Robin timidly, not really sure what to say.

"More like arguing with them...A young lady such as yourself shouldn't be alone like this, especially with this chill. Although I myself have found nature to be relaxing, I don't quite find it a good conversationalist."

"Oh, um, I suppose. I-I'm waiting for a friend."

"Are you then? Is he late? Terrible way to treat his lady, chivalry these days aren't what they used to be," asked the seemingly chatty elderly man. Wincing, Robin didn't know how to tell the old man that it wasn't like that. Oh, why did he have to talk? "I'm, well, it's -it's not a date. He just had something to attend to,… business! Yes, business! And we were s-suppose to talk about…about business too. That's all. He's been busy lately," answered Robin, trying to reassure the man so he could be on his way. _'__A garrulous man, isn__'__t he?__'_

"Is he? What could he ever be up to?" asked the elderly man sharply, snapping his head up suddenly. Piercing cold eyes boring into the poor woman as the old man suddenly looked a lot more menacing. "Well then, enjoy your trees. Goodbye."

Before Robin could even answer, the man was hobbling away again as if nothing had happened. The conversation confused Robin, but she put it beside her, accepting that he was just some eccentric man.

"Right...talking to trees."

Robin sat in silence for a while longer, not quite ready to pick up her previous conversation. She watched as other Londoners strolled by, ignorant of her presence as they walked towards their own destinations.

Finally she saw a familiar doctor hobbling as fast as he could in her direction, having spotted her first.

"Rob! Hey!" called out John as he finally approached her, two cups of tea in hand.

'_At least he brought the tea,__'_ thought Robin as she smirked, getting up to greet her friend.

"Hello Watson, it seems you've finally decided to grace me with your presence," she said, joking as John handed over her tea. "Ta."

"Sorry about the wait. Lestrade called me earlier this morning and asked if he could talk to me. I forgot my phone so I couldn't call when the meeting went longer than expected. Then I stopped for tea, hoping it would help make it up to you but then there was a really long line so that failed," babbled John, talking expressively as he went through what he had done throughout the day. They both now sat on the bench, sipping tea and chatting.

"Lestrade called? He's the DI from Scotland Yard, right?" asked Robin, fairly sure that the man was one of the people at the Christmas party.

"Yep, that's him. He sends his greetings and all."

"Mmm...he was the one with the salt and pepper hair, right?"

"Ha, yeah, that's him. He noticed you didn't come in at Christmas, told me to bring you around more."

"Best not, he's married and I'm awfully busy, never know when I might pop off a-anyway..." Robin said, cutting off John before he could even start on that train of thought. She hoped that her last comment might initiate a conversation where she could announce her plans for moving...It backfired completely of course.

"Don't sell yourself short. But yeah, I think he's married now. He was the last time I asked... Mary says you have a problem with that... t-the confidence thing, I mean."

"Oh? She does?" asked Robin, a bit more curiously, putting her previous plan aside. _'__I__'__ll deal with it__…__later.__'_

She hadn't met Mary yet, but had discussed her on several occasions by now and had even talked a few times with her over the phone, one conversation almost lasting two hours. That was a success, in Robin's books. Mary had informed Robin that she'd like to be friends. Robin couldn't really respond, mostly because of the bewilderment of gaining _more_ friends.

"I tell her that you're just like that, but she seems to think that you need to believe in yourself more... low self-esteem and all…n-not like you have… well… maybe just a bit," said John, finishing lamely.

Robin stayed silent for the moment, contemplating what he'd said, yet only really taking it half-heartedly.

"It's fine, I know," was the only thing Robin said in response. And she wasn't lying, her personality was too self-aware for it to not be obvious to her. She knew the reasons behind what she was now. She quickly gulped down some of her tea, hoping to change the subject around so they could focus on John.

"Hopefully I'm not the only thing you two talk to while you're off on holidays," commented Robin, earning a laugh from John.

"So, what did Lestrade talk to you about? I-if you don't mind me asking." She started, relaxing subconsciously as John visibly switched focuses.

"Oh, well... I need your advice on that actually," started John, pausing for only a moment to collect his thoughts. "Have you heard of the string of murders that's been going on for a while now?"

"Which one?"

"Oh, ha, right. It just came to light in the media but apparently the Yard's been tracking the murders – assassinations, whatever you want to call them – for a while now, trying to figure out how they relate. Th-The... soft bullet killer?" recited John.

Robin nodded solemnly, not letting on that she knew any more than she should. She knew plenty about the murders, of course; though she would have to agree that they seemed more like assassinations. Her line of work had made her review many an article on the murders. With her 'computer tech' work, she'd actually been involved directly in the media's ignorance about the matter. _'__Though I can__'__t say anything about it to John... or anyone else. Shame...__'_

"Well," continued John, "Lestrade called... the murders would have been right up _his _alley, an odd bunch. The Yard had started figuring out some sort of pattern when suddenly yesterday there was another victim."

"The people were killed by a soft metal bullet, right? Like…like aluminium, or was it copper? Aren't they used for pistols?" interjected Robin, trying to get the facts straight.

'_I wonder if I could do any __'__research__' __on the subject without getting caught. I saw at least some probable explanations last time I read that article...too bad I didn__'__t look more into it. Anonymous tips are still a thing, I presume,__'_ thought Robin quickly, already trying to help John the best she could.

"Yeah, but it's odd because there was never any sign of intrusion. The victims were found there, a bullet shot right through their head...yet no sign of anybody being close enough to be able to shoot them and create such damage."

"What was the new victim's name?" asked Robin, thinking about the case...

"Rick Whitehall, he's the son of some old money, found in his estate in west London just last night."

"And Lestrade has called you to ask your opinion, as you once worked close to the greatest detective?" assumed Robin, pretty sure where the conversation was heading.

"Not specifically that... see, he's asked me to consult medically for the Scotland Yard, since I have quite a bit of e-experience. He asked me to come in and look at Whitehall's body and the crime scene...and –and, I just don't know if I can," said John, now lowering his head as he silently wrung his hands together in his lap. "I-I want to though...I really do."

'_Crap.__'_ He hadn't looked so stressed or conflicted for a long time, since around the time Robin first met the doctor. He wasn't even sad anymore. He'd improved so much; she didn't want him to remember anything bad because of this.

'_But look at him, he told you once that he loved to help solve cases. Even now he looks a lot more excited than he did a year ago. He__'__s fidgeting, he wants to move and he should do this. It__'__ll help him,__'_ whispered Robin's subconscious, once again interfering in her thoughts. _'__I don__'__t know though... what should I say? Would _I _be able to help him?__'_ her mind raced, thinking of the best approach, when she suddenly remembered the odd request she'd gotten in text.

_Guard him_

'_Well, this might not be safe, but it__'__s the right thing to do,__'_ she concluded silently.

"I don't know if I'll live up to their standards...I'm no consulting detective and I'm certainly no genius. But...I miss the old life and I want to try consulting, at least before it's too late," added John, seeing Robin silently contemplating. She seemed focus, intent on the problem in front of her. He'd seen her look like that sometimes, with such extreme concentration, as if the problem itself was right in front of her like a map. Finally, she seemed to have come to a conclusion, rubbing her hands in her warm mittens and pursing her lips.

"Well, if that Anderson can manage to do it, than I see no reason why you can't consult."

"Very true," replied John before cracking a grin that slowly stretched across his face. They both started giggling uncontrollably as they both remembered stories of the ratty man and envisioning John trying to take the place of the late consulting detective. Coat and all.

Eventually they calmed down, John huffing lightly as he tried to stifle the laughter. Robin calmed down quickly, not one for lingering, not even on laughter.

"Although, I'm not sure how he's doing these days, even. He's still on the force, but just barely. Something about guilt, Lestrade mentioned," confided John, coughing lightly. "He's apparently started up his very own fan group too. Pesters Lestrade endlessly with his theories on how he might have survived."

Robin raised an eyebrow, wondering if Anderson was really that guilty. Serves him right, she supposed, for practically killing a man and then shaming the ones dear to him. Although she knew about a few 'fan clubs' here and there, she would have never figured Anderson of all people would start one. She might need to keep a closer eye on him.

"Lestrade kept telling me, too, how every time Anderson visited he'd have crazier and crazier theories. Soon he'll be involving Dan Brown!" exclaimed John, making both of them burst into a fit of giggles again, dying off only minutes later.

"Come along, if you want," requested John abruptly.

"Wha-?" cried Robin, startled. _'__A crime scene? Oh, no, no no no no, I can__'__t go to something like that. No, no. Too much variability, too much exposure. Too many bad codes...that__'__s too dark a game,__'_ she thought urgently. She never wanted to see the dead again, never ever, she couldn't deal with such an eyes wide, she stared at the army doctor, suddenly rigid as her mind started to perceive the moment as a threat. Her breaths shortened and she started to blink rapidly. Her hand fluttering up to her chest, she tried to calm herself before she had a full blown panic attack.

"Robin, are you okay? I know this isn't for most people, but I thought you had said that you where... into...these things, you always liked the stories and you told me you loved Bond," asked John, snapping Robin out of her fear for a second. She was getting used to new experiences, of adventurous thoughts, but a crime scene was too much at the moment.

"John, I'm sorry but this is where I draw the line. I…I can read about that stuff and yeah, I love the stories and everything you've told me but…I can't do that. I can't go into the field. I can't go," she stated resolutely, hoping to quickly move past the conversation, a bad habit she had when confronted.

Sadly John was adamant, he'd known Robin long enough to know that she would normally be at the very least fascinated by such things. She loved puzzles, the game of it. She loved the codes and mysteries in crime movies and books. John knew she wasn't the queasy type, either. It was all really just bad timing, Robin had let it slip that she was a sort of 'expert' in subjects that related to death recently, when he'd commented on some Grimm tales. John hadn't been all too shocked, more like concerned, but soon came to accept the new fact about his friend, happy that he was able to learn just a little bit more. But he was misinterpreting her interest for intrigue. She loved the stories and she's give him advice if he asked, but an actual crime scene…no. That was too much for her right now.

"Are you sure? I'd love the help and I thought you might be curious. I'd be able to introduce you to Lestrade better as well. Come on," insisted the doctor.

"Are you trying to set me us with Lestrade?" asked Robin, swaying the conversation one way, hoping that it would catch.

"No! And that's not the point. Please Robin, will you at least consider it? I'd really like your support there... I don't want to look like a fool."

"Stop using my loyalty in your matters against me, John! I won't always be there! I'm sorry, but I can't and I won't go. I'll help you any other way, but not like this," snapped Robin weakly, her body brisling slightly. Still, her brain worked against her, for she really did love a good crime mystery. A voice still nagged at her, her old curiosity becoming braver as she spent more time with John. But, she was resolute. Her logic and even intuition screamed for her not to go.

"Are you sure?"

"Extremely, I've seen enough of death in my lifetime," mumbled Robin in return, her interest still picking at her resolve.

"I once said something similar... then I wound up chasing madmen through streets," replied John catching onto her last comment, thought oblivious to it's actually meaning. He'd ask her about it later, when he wasn't so worried. Robin cringed silently, scolding herself for letting her tongue slip.

"John, I can't. This is a simple matter, that's all. If anything truly troublesome happens, I'll back you up but until then I've got to go," finished Robin, getting up to leave. She huffed and gathered her stuff before giving him a clipped farewell, ignoring John's protests.

She didn't feel anger toward her friend, not really. She appreciated his efforts to help her, no matter how ill-advised they where, but her logic told her to get away as fast as possible. She'd already just made the mistake letting her curiosity slip a bit. She lived a secluded life for a reason; she promised herself she wouldn't get too involved. _'__Now look where this has brought me. This is getting too complicated, too quickly.__' _She was desensitized for a reason, she had excluded herself for a reason, she'd become a drifter, a hermit, for a_ reason_.

'_I__'__ve got to get out of here; I need to get back home. This is too much, far too much, for me to handle right now,__'_ she rationalized.

She swore silently on the way home, feeling as though she'd failed miserably. She hadn't even been able to talk to John about moving on. She wasn't even able to tell him about…well…anything. And she he'd let her tongue slip! Death was a touchy subject but that didn't justify her slip.

Trudging along, she completely missed the old man from earlier, stopping to gaze at her in confusion as she rushed past, rearranging her scarf and coat as she went.

Guilt still ate at her.

When she had finally reached home, exhausted from the outburst, she was surprised to once again get a text from someone other than John. She was even more surprised that it was from the anonymous source. She had hoped it might have been a mistake the first time. It apparently wasn't, as it was meant for her. This time it read:

_Watch him, tricky business._

Robin stared at the text, growing concerned.

"Alright, it stops at two. I don't know how you got my phone number but it's time to track down who you are," she said to the phone, glaring at the texts. There were only two of them but with her need of privacy, an anonymous text-er wasn't something she enjoyed. "I should be able to track your IP..." she mumbled as she set off to work.

...

**Author's Note: **Hey look! I'm posting something in the middle of my exam week! How dangerous of me. Livin' on the edge for all of you. Eheheh. But no, seriously. I just finished one of my exams so I let myself have a few hours off to finish editing this chapter.  
Also, it's really cold around where I live. I dunno, it's just been really cold.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially Ducky the Insomniac Panda. You have a wonderful name. You really do.

Anyway, here's to character development and odd men and talking trees. By the way, the little humming Robin was doing (the part that kind of rhymed) was from a song by Regina Spektor. I also have a LoTR reference.

Cheers,

Elleari


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 ****– ****The End of a Beginning **

...

Robin sat once again at her desk, this time typing away furiously as she worked on her most recent projects. She was about the same as she ever was, her long, jet-black hair up in a messy bun, a frumpy sweater and old leggings keeping her warm and comfortable.

It was the day after John had taken up the offer to become one of the Yard's medical consultants and Robin had gotten her second anonymous text. And it was about twelve hours since she started tracking the phone's origin. John had contacted her after checking out the crime scene, retelling some of the basic facts that he'd learnt. Though he wasn't allowed to reveal much more than what the press had already revealed, he'd told Robin that he had a hunch that the seemingly unrelated victims did in fact have a connection, he just hadn't figured it out yet. The actually body itself wasn't anything special either, a simple but powerful trick shot right in the centre of the forehead. No one had a clue how it was done, especially since the caliber indicated a smaller pistol. Lestrade had been right, it was a strange case but at least John was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Oddly enough, the anonymous text-er had also contacted her again. It wasn't much to go on, a simple question of _'__Who are you?__'_ had been sent to her, but it was enough for Robin. It was unnerving, knowing that someone knew how to contact you. The texting wasn't a mistake. It wasn't someone play a game. Whoever was contacting her knew that she was connected somehow to John and was targeting him through her. She hated being used. She wouldn't allow it.

She'd been working on finding the text-er's IP address, but since there was no connection, she started to trace the texts through the number. Of course, it was blocked…but that didn't stop her. What did stop her, though, was the fact that the number didn't have an origin. Or maybe it did, but when tracing it, her attempts kept of getting bounced. Maybe the phone was a burner. She'd been working on tracing the texts since the previous evening but sadly hadn't gotten anywhere. Robin was pretty sure that the messages were sent through a smartphone, thus finding out the IP address, but she found herself stumped on what to do next. It would take too much time to decode the buffer and track the phone's activity. At least Robin now knew that the text-er was a skilled individual. She was extremely concerned that someone was on to her but she figured that as long as she laid low she'd stay safe enough. She had set up several precautions years earlier for such occurrences like this one. And still, how much could the text-er know if he was sending her messages like the last one? They might know about her, but they gladly didn't _know _her.

What concerned Robin the most, though, was that the text-er seemed not to have any particularly malicious interests. The text-er had all but asked her to help in protecting John, indicating that there was some sort of kinship between the doctor and the text-er. It was unnerving.

'_Just watch it be M... he__'__s done this before, but not this discretely,__' _thought Robin, finally pushing away from the desk and getting up to go and make some tea. She made her way to the kitchen, grabbed her tea and settled down to finally glance out the window. Seven hours, forty-five minutes and six-seconds had elapsed since she had last looked.

"Is it evening already?" she mumbled lazily, not really paying attention. She'd often work through the whole day, sometimes two, without even moving out of the room.

'_Well, at least I__'__m not overweight because of it,__' _joked Robin half-heartedly with herself. She could calculate the exact calorie intake she needed...well, it wasn't like she actually cared. Or tried to follow it. She knew she wasn't a beauty and really, who would ever care to look?

Suddenly, her phone -she kept it next to her now since meeting John- beeped in her pocket, indicating a new text message.

_Help him now._

Again, it was a text from the anonymous sender. This one was more commanding and a bit more urgent, making Robin shift in her seat in worry. Biting her lip, she wondered what John had gotten into, for it was no doubt him that the text was mentioning. She hoped that the doctor was alright.

'_Should I call him?__' _she thought, not really sure what to do.

Gladly, Robin's phone answered her question as it rung out. Knowing the only one that ever called her was John, Robin was immediately relieved as she snatched up her phone to answer it.

"John?" she asked quickly, not wasting a moment.

"R-Robin, are you busy? Can you come over; I need your help r-right n-now with something," asked the kind doctor in distress. His voice shook slightly, as if he was still trying to keep it together, but he sounded scared. Immediately Robin tensed, something was wrong with John.

"Where's Mary?" she asked, knowing that she'd be better at comforting him if needed. She was his partner, she would help him emotionally, comfort him, better than Robin could.

"She's working, she'll be home soon. I-I don't want to worry her too much. I'll call her once she's home. B-but I need your help. Something's happened..."

Robin's throat constricted, the words from the anonymous text echoing in her head for a bit. Her accursed brain already calculating the probability of the worst-case scenarios. _'__Damn...__'_

"What's happened?" she asked.

"Th-there's been a break in... I think. S-something was left. Or…I don't know. But stuff was moved around. Look, I'll explain when you get here, I need your help."

"I'll be at your flat in a moment, John, just hang in there."

"No, wait. I'm not at my flat; I'm at 221B B-Baker Street. Please hurry."

...

"Bugger..." whispered Robin as she hurried down the street, headed straight for 221 Baker Street. Gladly she didn't live too far away and so in less than ten minutes she stood in front of the building's black front door.

She hadn't had much time to think of what to do, instead deciding to rush around her flat while gathering her phone and some equipment, including her laptop. She hadn't consciously thought about what she'd do with her equipment but she figured at least she was prepared. She'd be able to properly help that way. If she did help, that is.

Standing in front of the door, Robin took in a deep breath. Admittedly, she was feeling extremely intimidated by the building and what shadows it held. It looked just about the same as the rest of the buildings on the streets, with its white concrete and brick. She had lived down the block for approximately four years so obviously she had at least heard of the consulting duo. She lived a small life, one that was closed in, cut off and extremely private so it was no wonder she became intimidated by the thought of powerful people such as the detective. _'__I hate myself for it though...being so timid.__'_

Her work had crossed many times with news from the detective. The fact that _M_ –her 'boss'– was probably Mycroft, the elder Holmes, didn't really help either. Still, she had stuck to the shadows, avoiding the notorious bunch as much as she could, instead on occasion glancing out the window when her surveillance picked that they were passing her flat. John still thought that she just worked as a website designer (she did do that on occasion) and no one else knew she really existed, except for Mr Forester of course, and a few select people that weren't in her life at the moment.

"Hello,… dear?" called a voice from the door in front of Robin, opening to reveal a kind old lady peaking from the other side of the door. She held the door open but stopped when she saw Robin just standing there, lost in thought.

Robin didn't respond immediately, caught up in her worried thoughts and ignoring the sweet lady.

"Dear, are you okay? Hello?" asked the elderly woman again, this time opening the door a bit wider, finally snapping Robin out of her thoughts.

'_Oops, come now Robin, let__'__s stay focused today,__'_ she thought rapidly, catching up with herself before coughing to clear her throat.

"I-I'm Robin, J-John's friend. He called earlier..." she started timidly. She rung her hands, clutching at her old ruck-sack that held her equipment.

"Oh! Robin! It's nice to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you from John. I was so hoping to see you at Christmas, what a shame. Oh, but never mind that, come in!" exclaimed the elderly woman, making Robin flinch back a bit. "I'm Mrs Hudson, the landlady. John's been incessant about you since you two met, though I can't say that he's said much. He's right upstairs, come in! Don't be standing there out in the chill, dear, come in!" ushered Mrs Hudson, moving to guide Robin in. The kind landlady was about to put her hand on Robin's back, ushering her further as Robin took her coat off, but before she could touch the ashen woman, Robin had already taken off her coat and was standing a good distance away, just a bit too overwhelmed for the contact. Gladly Mrs Hudson didn't notice the aversion and quickly continued explaining that John was upstairs and that he had just come to pick up some things. Apparently after a few minutes in the flat, John had stumbled down the stairs, half-falling into Mrs Hudson's flat as he stuttered out something about a violin and a break-in. She seemed a bit flustered herself, as she explained that she'd asked if she should call the police, but John had told her to wait.

Robin listened intently but she could help but fidget more and more as she listened to the kind landlady. It wasn't like she didn't like the landlady –Robin actually found her very nice and comfortable to be around– but the lithe woman had a disposition to dislike most people naturally so even with the landlady's kindness Robin couldn't help but not care all that much. Or at least be wary. She didn't really know how to respond, either. She couldn't think it through, though. Especially if there were more pressing matters at hand. Mrs. Hudson had just finished explaining how John should have stayed in contact more, not seeing him enough for so long.

"Oh, but dear, you should probably go up to see him... he's been so quiet," said Mrs Hudson, snapping Robin from her worried thoughts again.

"Mmhm, t-thank you Mrs Hudson. I'll go s-speak to him," mumbled out Robin, moving to head up stairs.

"He hasn't been in the flat for a year..." said the landlady, wondering aloud before turning back to Robin. "Thank you."

"F-for what?" asked Robin, stopping.

"You brought him out of his little tiff. He was so lost when, well… went off and left us. You helped a lot dearie."

"I-I don't know why people keep saying that. I just gave him someone to talk to."

"You did more than that, trust me," said the landlady, her serious tone lifter as she continued. "I'll bring up some biscuits as a cuppa for each of you."

"I won't need anything, but John would probably need a cuppa."

"Nonsense, look at you! You're as thin as a twig and as ashen as a birch. You need the nutrients dear. No protest!"

Robin could only stumble around the order, obviously not able to respond to Mrs Hudson's mothering. She did have to admit though; with all the work she'd been doing she hadn't really eaten in a few days.

"Ta," she mumbled out to the kind woman before heading up.

'_Well, that was a success... I believe__'_ she thought, steeling herself as she opened up the door to 221b.

...


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 ****– ****Stradivarius **

...

"John?" called Robin, poking her head into 221b through the doorway. In response there was a weak murmur, a shift in movement, but that was all.

"Is that you John?" called Robin again. This time there was a soft grunt. Sucking in a breath and making sure she had her case and glasses, she went to enter the flat. "I-I'm coming in," she said as she finally entered, observing the flat while she deposited her rucksack in the corner where a small table was.

She gazed around the room, taking it all in. If she wasn't so worried at the moment, she probably would have laughed at the irony and humour of some of the things in the room, especially the black bull skull with the headphones. The flat was a dream, albeit a bit dusty. It was cluttered just in the right way, it was dark, the room glowed with this homely charm, enticing visitors to explore and discover its secrets. This was Robin's first time actually being in the flat but John had described it to her multiple times, so far it lived up to her expectation. Maybe it was just her.

Walking over to John, who sat in 'his' chair staring at a case while resting his head on one arm, Robin gingerly placed her own hand on to his shoulder, rousing him from his thoughts. On the third shake, he finally awoke, jumping a bit. Robin pulled back quickly, flinching away. Quickly John got his bearings back and looked up to meet Robin's gaze, an apologetic expression of his face.

"You made it, t-thanks," he started, visibly relaxing a bit as his shoulders slumped and his face evened out a bit from the worried scowl.

"No problem...happy to help," answered Robin curtly. "Are you okay? You said that there was a break-in, I-I don't see anything moved. What's in the case? Wh-Why where you here anyway?" asked Robin quickly, spilling out her questions.

John chuckled dryly a bit, amused from Robin's out of character questioning.

"W-Well...I've been better, there was a break in, uh…the case was l-left, it contains a violin an-and I was here looking for some old notes I had...some notes he had…"

"Why?"

"I-I thought they would help with the case, reference points. I was just c-cleaning up when I found the violin in his bedroom...Ro-Rob, I don't know what to do," said John, trying to explain the situation to Robin.

"Wait, the violin was left here? Why? Is it special?" she inquired, now focusing on the black leather case that sat in front of John, trying to figure it out.

"It was _his_...he played it often when he was thinking," mumbled John, heartbroken as he remembered all the late night sonatas and frenzied concertos.

"O-oh…"

Deep down Robin had hoped that John had contacted Mary for this; she'd thought that it would be best for his girlfriend to deal with the emotions. Mary had been a great supporter for John already, pushing him in ways only she could. Mary knew what to do. Robin had thought, maybe, just maybe, if John learnt to move on from her she might have been able to let go too. She forgot that this had become her burden as well, she had promised herself to help him, he had told her his secrets and Robin couldn't blame him. She cared for John now, and the friendship she had was really…_really _important. He'd made her care, she wanted to help. Mary might not have been able to help, anyway, no matter how much she tried. Well, maybe not practically anyway.

"Wasn't his's things left here anyway? Mycroft was paying the rent, right?" she asked. "Maybe Mrs Hudson was just cleaning and the violin was moved...or maybe you just didn't notice it before..."

"Robin, his violin was buried with him!" exclaimed John suddenly, moving to rub his forehead wearily.

"A-Are you-" started Robin.

"_Yes!_ It's his, I'd know the bloody violin anywhere!" cut off John forcefully, relinquishing any doubt, worry etched on his features again.

Robin's eyes widened, realizing what this meant. Options and reasons ran through her head as she thought of what to do now.

"I-I..Who would take his violin?" whispered John, already deflated.

"M-Mycroft... he could check the CCTV," she suggested, knowing full well that she could do it but still trying to deflect the situation._ '__I can__'__t tell him now...__'_ she thought, knowing the timing was bad. _'__But if it__'__s needed? What if it__'__s for the best? You could get into the CCTV in seconds,__' _a second voice asked her, her subconscious voicing its opinion again. _'__I know...__'_

"He's not answering, I've tried," replied John, making Robin curse silently.

"Wh-What if someone's still targeting him!? The media still hate him... no matter what I say. He's a fraud to the public... he said once that M-Moriarty's syndicates are like a web...someone could still..."

Robin knew of Moriarty, she had known long before John told her a few months after meeting originally. He'd filled her in on the stories, insisting that he was real, explaining Richard Brook as well. Gladly she hadn't gotten close enough for Moriarty to notice Quartermaster's activities, or at least link them to her.

She had encountered Moriarty's work long ago but had quickly hid from it, knowing immediately that it was something too dangerous even for her to get mixed up in. Or, at least she hoped she had hid well enough. Recently she had done more research into the man but there were too many firewalls and viruses and without incentive she hadn't wanted to take a chance. She also knew enough about his web, about its power, to know not to mess with it if avoidable. She had to remind herself that he _had been_ extremely dangerous but now with the head gone, the web was in shambles... or at least she hoped so.

At the moment though, she had to put that aside. She had to keep calm so she could help her friend. Looking over to John, Robin bit her lip, not sure of what to do with what she saw. John was in a panic, something that seldom happened, and had gone into a rant.

"What would they want?! He's gone, dead! Moriarty destroyed him, his reputation... Moriarty's gone too. R-revenge can only go so far. But the violin was _buried with him, _I saw it happen, I _placed_ the bloody instrument there! Oh…oh god the grave's been robbed! But it couldn't have happened; I saw the grave was fine!"

Robin didn't know how to react. She had dealt with a sad, depressed, even an angry army doctor but now... Everyone carried baggage, she had helped John as much as she could but it was becoming risky. Her own emotions had begun to boil, her eyes blurry for a second before she snapped herself out of it. _'__Selfish! Stop it Robin! John needs your damned help and you will give it to him, you owe him too much!__'_

Robin nodded, trying to calm John as he shifted in his seat, clutching the violin violently.

"Jo-John, John, calm down. We have to think this through carefully," she said, calming the doctor as best she could. It wasn't working.

"John, control yourself!" she scolded, hoping it would help is she was a bit more forceful. Though she could empathize with John, she knew how to control her emotions. Sure, she had them just like anyone else, but she had a good grasp on them, a good control. John needed that now.

The doctor nodded, stilling as he pursed his lips in thought.

'_What would someone do with the consultant__'__s violin? If they had wished to sell it, it would have been gone long ago. He__'__s dead...his enemies are dead too...I think,__' _thought Robin along with the kind doctor.

"John, would any of his enemies benefit from taking his violin or ransacking his grave?" she asked.

"No –no, I don't see any reason for them to try. It could be some haters from the media...but even that's a stretch. It's too risky for either party I think..." replied John, huffing tiredly.

"Have you checked the flat for any evidence?" questioned Robin again, gazing around the flat from where she sat, looking for herself.

"Yeah, I searched the place the best I could. Nothing, not even the dust, was disturbed. I can't get a hold of the CCTV because of Mycroft... I have nothing to go on."

"Have you called the Yard? You have friends there,"

"I called Lestrade, he didn't pick up but I left him a message. I don't want to get the rest of the force involved...he's still a sore spot."

Robin leaned forwards, resting her head on her folded arms as she thought. Normally they would call the police right away, but this was a delicate situation and really, nothing had been disturbed. Something had been actually _added_ to the flat. _'__The best thing to do would be to get into the CCTV and look back to...what? Last night was it? I-I could do it easily if I set up my laptop. But that would reveal too much...__'_ she thought in rapidly. She mumbled quietly, the flat now silent as both friends thought of what to do.

"I-I'm going to go call Lestrade again, see if he picks up, I need to check that grave," admitted John finally after a long silence. His voice was on edge, a twinge of weariness in it as well; it had been a long day. Robin looked up, meeting his gaze only to look away in shame at what she saw. _'__He__'__s so tired...Even in death the detective torments my friend, a shadow ever looming... The least I could do is help him explain what__'__s happening.__' _

Robin felt ashamed, selfish when it came down to it.

"You go call Lestrade, I…ah…I'll get the CCTV video," responded Robin finally, getting up quickly before John could ask questions or she could change her mind. Internally she resolved herself to just take whatever would happen and just _help_ as best she could.She got her bag and took out her laptop, setting it down on the table along with a port device. It wasn't the best system to use but Robin was a top tier hacker and she had modified most of her devices to suit her needs. The equipment would serve its purpose. She knew she was good enough that the device didn't matter that much. CCTV hacking was extremely simple for her so she worked swiftly, avoiding John the best she could. She knew he was watching her, curious. She didn't have the will to answer any of his questions.

"Phone," she said quickly to remind him of what he needed to do. She was already sat, ready to boot up her programs, ready to work. _'__I__'__ll get the information in a minute and...forty-seven seconds...__'_

Shaking himself, John turned quickly and fetched his phone. He couldn't help but smile a bit, even though there were some serious unanswered questions popping, he couldn't help but feel that at least Robin was acting like herself, her true self. Being her friend, he'd picked up that she was hiding something –he knew the behaviour and he wasn't stupid– he was just glad that she was opening up a bit more. He seemed to attract the strangest of friends.

Robin peeked over to where John was talking on the phone, finally able to get to Lestrade. She glancing at her program half-heartedly as she checked if it was all running smoothly. She'd created an algorithm to hack surveillance years ago, making her work extremely easy and giving her time now to listen in to John's conversation with the DI.

Hiding a bit behind her laptop, she listened as they talked.

She had almost met the DI at the Christmas party last year. It wasn't that she didn't like the man, he seemed pleasant (at least from a distance) but she was the Quartermaster, and she could never be 100% sure where they stood with the Yard. But Lestrade was well known to much of the public these days, so she had at the very least heard of him.

"Yeah...no, look...no, I'm fine," said John into his phone, arguing with Lestrade. "I told you, there was a break in at 221b, nothing was stolen or disturbed but _his _violin was left...yes, it's the Stradivarius, I know his violin."

"Yea...no! Look, it was buried with him, so the grave...yea...no, it looked fine the last time I visited."

"Meet us there, okay...yeah, us... Robin." The ashen woman perked up at that, fidgety when her name was spoken around her.

"You met her…no?…Yeah…no? I'll see you there, right? In a half-hour, an hour at most. Alright, thanks."

Finally John was finished; apparently they were to meet Lestrade at the cemetery.

"You're going to dig up his grave?" questioned Robin, not looking away from her laptop, her fingers moving swiftly against the keyboard.

"I have to...I have to know what happened."

"Curious?"

"Concerned. And Lestrade has agreed…timidly."

Silence stretched for a moment, Robin furrowing her brows in concentration. She looked back down and checked to feeds...she was on to something. She was just glad she didn't have too much footage to look over.

"Come over here, I've found something," called Robin suddenly, waving for John to come over. He quickly limped over, leaning against the back of her chair while watching the screen and the different windows that were plastered on it. Number ran quickly, reminding him of 'the Matrix,' but Robin quickly swept her hands across the keyboard, bringing up CCTV footage.

"There are the feeds from the security cameras around your flat; there are three that complete a full 360 around the building's general area and a couple more that might fill in some gaps. I've checked the footage for the last 48 hours for any variation or tampering."

John immediately recognized the settings seen in the fuzzy images, watching the black and white people pass the cameras.

"See, most of them are fine but two have been changed recently."

"Two?" asked John.

"Yeah, uh…here, the first one looks like it just moved but I checked it's timing and it doesn't match up with the rest of its cycle," started Robin before pausing to think.

"Mycroft?" suggested John.

"From what you've said before, yeah, probably. I could check later."

"How do you know?"

"The camera followed you when you where visiting, obviously watching you. It didn't zoom in though and I know no images were taken from the feed so it was a passing curiosity. The camera was accessed through the main server, and the CCTV wasn't hacked, so it was probably from an official source. Nothing malicious."

John nodded, it made sense.

"Then what about the other breach?"

"It happened around about one in the morning. Someone's cut out a portion of the video, either tampering with it later or placing a loop into it," explained Robin, pointing to a screen to the corner as it played a few seconds of video. Half way through, the video glitches and falters. It wasn't all that noticeable but an expert, like Robin, could pick it up.

"It's a pretty clean job so I'm guessing that whoever did it knows what he or she is doing. They've taken out about 5 minutes of video in total. I can't tell you who yet but I can look it up later. I'll check for other sources too, see if there is any audio. I'll scan other feeds to see if there's any clue to who was in the video," finished Robin, closing the programs and cleaning up her tracks swiftly. "It would be best to ask Mrs Hudson if she encountered or was approached by anyone, anyone at all. It might link up what happened."

John sat silently on the couch behind her and nodded absently, thinking as she cleaned up. Mycroft's name came to mind but he couldn't pin a purpose. The elder Holmes had always kept a watch on the duo back when John lived at 221b; it wasn't a surprise that he probably would have continued surveillance on the flat. Though, John couldn't think of a reason why Mycroft would cut out video.

"I'll look into it later when I can get back home, back to my main network and tools," muttered Robin, trying to make plan to help John.

Minutes passed as the pair waited silently for Lestrade. Robin was anxious and wary, if not a bit curious, to meet the DI, given her profession. John had promised once though that he was a fair man, he had helped quite a bit in the past, so she would have to put her faith in John's word.

After a bit, John began to shift around, questions beginning to run through his head. There was now the lingering tension, mostly due to John's curiosity and disbelief. What had Robin just done?

"So..." he began, planning to ask Robin about her real profession.

"Is it safe here?" interrupted Robin, watching John.

"What?"

"Are there any surveillance devices, audio, visual, anything, here? Anything you remember?"

"N-no, none that I can think of. He would sweep the flat now and again and got rid of everything and I made sure Mycroft debugged the flat just in case."

"Mmm…nothing showed up on my scanner... we're safe," mumbled Robin, mostly to reassure herself.

"So...you're, um... you're a-" started John, hesitant. He wasn't sure how to place Robin, though he had a pretty good idea. 'Website designer' his arse. Still, he knew how the ashen woman was and didn't want to scare her off.

"Hacker," finished Robin bluntly, wincing internally at the situation. John nodded solemnly, processing.

"So when you said that you would help, at the beginning, you did actually help...y-you hacked the news websites?"

Robin nodded slowly, timid. "Never overlook a coincidence if you have the time," she mumbled out.

"I-I had to black out my n-name from your blog too…sorry about that. I fixed your counter in return, also, you had a virus ready…wiped that. I've been searching the web for any proof –any news – so far the progress is...limited."

John's eyes widened slowly, taking in her work. "H-How good are you?" he asked, not sure what he could say. He was, admittedly, curious and was actually a bit relieved that his focus could shift, even for a moment. He was glad that Robin trusted him enough to start to divulge something. The doctor knew he should be pained that she hadn't told him earlier, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry, or at least not really. He was a bit hurt, but at least he understood.

Robin paused, unsure, before answering.

"Top tier," responded Robin curtly and quietly, not willing to say too much but knowing it was time.

"Top –I don't understand."

"I…I-I am at one of the highest levels in the h-hacking world. I specialize in code-breaking and digital manipulation. And I n…never leave a footprint…I'm known mostly for being invisible," Robin explained as best she could. She didn't know if she should mention the fact that she worked with the government...but maybe it was time anyway. Hadn't she just rebelled at the idea of letting go the other day? But the situation had changed and she could be useful to John.

"Like…the Anonymous?" asked John. He knew little about hackers - being relatively inept when it came to computers - just what he had learnt from the news, most of the names belonging to activists and cell groups.

"Higher… much higher, and I work alone. Anonymous is an organization with certain goals and aims. I don't...I'm not really an activist. They have a certain vision of the world. I know I can't force change and I don't want to force anyone to do anything. I just keep things fair…but I keep mostly to my own projects,"

"Alone in your flat? You know you could be doing a lot more..."

"I do enough as it is, better that I don't attach myself to anyone or anything."

"Is it really that dangerous?" This was beginning to remind him of some sort of spy movie…or f Mycroft. Was Robin really involved in those things? Outwardly, the introverted and frail woman didn't look like it, but maybe…maybe she had a talent. John knew she was intelligent, maybe could even rival _him_ on a good day, but she hadn't really mentioned much about her work.

"Depends. Normally hackers have to watch out about certain laws. I've...I've been around quite a bit and I've learnt a few things."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

Robin looked away, wincing. _'__Of course he was going to ask... it doesn__'__t make it any easier though.__'_

"Are you angry at me?" she asked back. Internally, she was ready to beg forgiveness, remembering her recent nightmares. Her hands trembled lightly and she fidgeted, trying to stay calm.

"I…I'm hurt…but I guess that's to be expected. Ah…but…it's fine. I understand," replied John. Robin almost immediately relaxed, her shoulders hunching and her head falling into her hands as she let out a shaky breath. Eventually, after a few rough minutes, she looked back up to him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked John again, not wanting the subject to fall just yet. They had a bit of time and with everything that was suddenly happening, John wanted at some certainty.

"I-I didn't trust you," replied Robin, frank. She could just imagine the hurt and surprised look on John's face and she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "What I do, most think is a horrible crime, making me a criminal. Either way, it's complicated. I c-collect or sometimes just stumble upon information, some of it's fairly h-harmless...but there are things that no one else can know about. Because of that, I can never really know who could be an ally or my enemy. It's all so tricky that I just don't have the time or energy to attach myself. It's horrible and I hate lying to you, I really do, but I can't let anything slip. A single message…or a string of code lost…"

John looked at her, really looked. It was true, when he thought of hackers his mind immediately when to the shady groups, illegal hackers, changing or manipulating for themselves or for the wrong reasons that you normally saw in movies. Even the better stories he'd heard had an aftermath of chaos and confusion, positive or negative. Robin couldn't really defend herself against what she had done, as she had to admit to being a pretty big harbinger of chaos when she worked. But her intention was never evil and she never wanted to hurt people, unless they deserved it.

"Like…like the 007 code the Woman had…" he mumbled as an example to himself, trying to compute it all.

"Exactly!" she suddenly exclaimed, making John jump, surprised that she recognized and heard what he had heard. Well, maybe he should start expect that sort of thing now.

"You know the Woman? Irene Adler?" he asked.

"Oh, oh no," started Robin, waving her hand frantically to dismiss the notion. "I was just someone that was…working to keep the code safe and then…stop it from getting into the wrong hands later. I only knew Adler by name. S-she seemed intimidating. I…I heard about the story later on, in the chatter." John had been sworn to secrecy about the case, but now he laughed, glad to relive the memories for a second. Eventually he sobered again, though, thinking of more questions.

"Is what you do, you specifically...illegal? L-Lestrade is coming and if this slips and he...he's a DI so – but he's fair so –It'll be fine...jus..." said John quickly, stumbling over his words, trying to not intimidate or scare off the poor woman.

Sighing, Robin rubbed her forehead quickly, slumping.

"Technically, yes. All higher tier hackers encounter illegal situations, at the very least. But John, I'm what they call a whitecap, or white-hat. I'm... I'm a 'good' hacker. What I do...I'm for hire, b-but only to the right people. I share information, hack to toughen security, find loopholes. I freelance but I have immunity to most laws. I-I've done work for the government and they owe me..."

"How are you immune? Wait, the government?"

"I'm immune partially because I've made it so I don't exist in cyberspace. There is no Robin Day Whittaker out there in the information stream. I am pretty much a ghost," she paused, thinking of how the description fit. "The government knows _of_ me and so contacts me and protects me when needed as well...you could say that I consult them," finished Robin, she couldn't help referring to the late detective for an example.

"Consulting Hacker...god, how many types are out there?" mumbled John, cracking a small grin to reassure Robin.

"I-I don't really _consult, _I still consider myself a freelancer." Robin snorted softer into her resting arm. "I don't think they could hold me down anyway."

"What do you mean?"asked John, curious.

"A few years back I hacked into MI6 after they where bothering me..." began Robin vaguely, John already wide eyed at the simple phrase. "I replaced their weapon technology files with shoots and ladders they had to beat and the agent files with cooking recipes." By then John was gawking and Robin had a bit of a smirk on her face. "Don't worry, it wasn't permanent, though it took longer than I had predicted for someone to actually beat the shoots and ladders game. The point is, I did this before my first cuppa in the morning, running on about two hours of sleep," recited Robin, confiding a little story to John so that he could have some sort of measure of her skill. He seemed to accept her, plus it was funny to see John gawk.

After a moment, though, John's wide mouth-ed look morphed into a snort that also soon evolved into a hearty laugh.

He had a lot of questions still; more would probably pop up as the time went on, but now he would accept what he had. He was worried how they might explain it to Lestrade but he decided then and there to keep it secret if needed. There was another situation that had to be taken care of, now, and at least he felt more secure about it, knowing that Robin was behind his back.

Robin was just glad that it was out in the open, if not a bit shell shocked at what she had admitted. She had had to hold that secret for so long…it was liberating to have a confidant, if not terrifying. But now she could help more. And…if John knew about her profession, maybe she shouldn't leave. No…she'd stay. It was time she did something with her life besides hide.

"You're safe with me as well, alright?" he stated, bringing Robin from her thoughts and earning a relieved sigh and a nod. "But look, we've got to go and meet Lestrade, we'll talk later."

Relief washed over Robin, happy that she was accepted. John stood from his seat and hugged Robin, shocking her at the contact, but was glad that he was okay. They'd be okay. Nodding quietly, she eventually let go and grabbed her rucksack and equipment, put on her coat, and followed John out the door. He gave a curt 'goodbye' to Mrs Hudson and soon enough they found themselves in a cab on their way to the cemetery.

In Robin's pocket her phone pinged again.

_Thank you. Keep him safe. Who are you?_

...

**Author****'****s Note: **Yep, so now you all know what Robin really does all day. Well, you all probably already could tell, but John sure couldn't! Robin's a private person by nature and she has a lot to hide so a large part of the story is going to be about her revealing her character to the people around her and…well…spoilers. Mind you, I don't know too much about hacking so I'll be researching a lot. If I miss anything, please excuse me. Robin's really, really good at what she does, but there's a reason for that. She's a bit of a tech genius and can do amazing things with technology. You'll see soon enough.

And yeah, that begins the plot. Someone is returning through the storm. Who might it be? Well, it's a bit obvious to us, but that's dramatic irony for you. And poor John, getting so worried.

Oh, and my exams are over so I'm on to the next semester of school! Yay!

Cheers,

Elleari 


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 ****– ****Confrontation **

...

Soon enough Robin and John arrived at the cemetery. Getting out of the taxi they were met with the sight of two police cars parked around the front gate.

"How many people did Lestrade bring?" asked Robin blankly.

"Who knows," replied John, chuckling tensely as he paid the cabbie.

Quickly they made their way towards where John knew the grave would be. He had explained that Lestrade would meet them there, ready to check out the grave and all. He rambled quietly about the times he had visited, and how little the place had changed. Robin listened raptly beside him, not knowing what else she could do. After a moment, though, Robin began to slow down, realizing that she wouldn't really be needed. There really wasn't much else to do…was there? She'd done her job, so far, and John needed to deal with the rest of it by himself. There were professionals (well, official ones anyway) all over the place that could probably do any job she would. Maybe she should leave it to them, for now.

'_I don__'__t really like cemeteries anyway__…__a bit morose.__'_

Looking around, she saw it better just to hang back and observe, shadow the situation and help if called. For now she would just listen in. John had already progressed further down the path, not really noticing the meandering pace of his friend.

"John!" called Lestrade, happy to see his old friend. The detective inspector had already found the grave, set up a 'perimeter' with police tape. He had a couple of officers – gladly no more than three –standing watch just in case.

"You've set this all up?" John called back, a bit surprised. "Is it really necessary?"

"Well, technically speaking, this is a crime scene if we find that something's happened. Just want to be prepared…for the worst and all," explained Lestrade awkwardly, holding up a drill thing. Robin had to guess that they were going to drill down to the coffin, since all they really needed was to send down a probe with a camera, at least for now. They did not have the rights to exhume the body, as the process for the permit would take too long, but they could do at least this. It would all depend on what they found, or more importantly what they don't find, in the coffin. Admittedly, this was all probably very hush, hush.

"Well then, let's get started..." replied John shakily, following Lestrade as they got to work with the others. Robin stayed away but couldn't help but peak at Mr Holmes' gravestone. It was a simple black slab with the man's name written in white. No message, nothing special.

Robin kept to the side lines as a rule, moving away further if she was bothering anyone. A few officers were watching her, not really sure what to do. She didn't notice any of them though, preoccupied and focused greatly on her friend's work.

Robin couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and regret, she felt like she'd missed out on a great deal as she'd never be able to meet the incredible man in life. Sure, from the stories John had told her, the detective would probably either ignore her or insult her so much that she'd creep right back to the dark hole she came from herself. Still, that was her life. She wasn't ashamed and she was forever grateful that the detective could never outright deduce. That would be disastrous to every party. It was amazing though, that she had lived so close to such an incredible man.

Robin watched as her friend and the detective interacted around the grave. They seemed to be catching up and talking tensely while still working, getting the facts straight and so on. Officers milled about, two helping the two men while the others watched the perimeter. Gladly there weren't as many police officers at Robin had originally thought there might have been, much less than if this actually _was_ a crime scene.

Leaning against a tree, Robin watched from afar, not surprised that they had already forgotten about her. It didn't seem like they needed help so she thought why now just take in the scenery. It was a slightly chilly day, so she had bundled up in a light coat, a warm wool scarf wrapped around her pale neck, just in case. The trees were still bare, hardly ready to bud, and the scenery in general was still quite bleak. The old stone building loomed quietly in the background and Robin' couldn't quite decide whether is was inviting enough to go look for warmth there. Admittedly, there were a few patches of fresh grass, the beginnings of finer weather and season, but the little sprouts of hope were few and far in between.

"Who are you?" asked someone from behind Robin suddenly, scaring Robin as she immediately whipped around and almost stumbled onto her butt. She had been in deeper thought than she'd hoped, too absorbed by the surroundings. She blushed lightly as a light yelp escaped from her lips. _'__Bloomin__' __bobby! Hasn__'__t anyone taught them not to sneak up on someone...__' _thought Robin, regaining her composure as the police woman who had scared her just stared back, impatient.

"Blimey, scaring someone like that...' mumbled Robin, looking the police woman over. She was average height, average build…although if she was a police woman then she must be at least a bit fit. Her most striking features where her sour face, dark skin and frizzy, black hair. _'__Isn__'__t that__…__?__'_thought Robin for a second, recognizing her own mental description. _'__Oh no__…__not her__…'_

"Who are you? You shouldn't be hanging around here," repeated the officer. Her annoyed tone immediately sparking recognition in Robin, having heard of the woman in John's stories. Of course, instead of actually explaining herself and thinking things through, Robin chose the more socially awkward route.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan!" spurted Robin, her eyes wide. Donovan immediately narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

"Yea?" asked the officer. "How do you know me? Why _are_ you here?"

"Uh, I...I-I'm here with John, John Watson. I'm –I'm just hanging out here, I d-don't want to bother him," stuttered Robin, not really frightened but feeling extremely discomfited.

"You know John? How?" asked Donovan, narrowing her eyes. Her squinting eyes accentuated the dark circles under her eyes and the slight crows feet beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. Donovan seemed stressed…but maybe that was just a normal thing for her. Robin knew her only from what John had told him, and admittedly it wasn't all good.

"Yeah, my name is R-Robin Day Whittaker. I-I'm just a friend,"

"You're here with John about the late Freak's grave?"

"Um...y-yeah?" responded Robin, not really sure how to go about the 'late Freak's' comment. Had she been a more confident and well-versed person, she might have bit back at the comment. Alas, with her stuttering demeanour she could hardly get a sentence out.

Donovan huffed, shrugging her shoulder, writing the young hacker off as dismissive. "If you ask me, this is all just a bunch of bullocks. He's dead, and who would want to steal from him anyway? It's not like he had anything, he was a fraud."

"H-hey, wait. Don't go ar-" began Robin, affronted. She wasn't able to finish, though, as the sergeant cut her off.

"Do you have some sort of stutter?" inquired Donovan, now annoyed. "You don't seem like the type that John would hang around. You're not some freak, are you?" Robin was surprised by the questions and the bluntness of it. Hadn't this Donovan learnt anything from what had happened with…with him? Sure, she technically was a freak but normally one didn't point that out so rudely. Even Robin knew that. Did the woman have some sort of tiff against Robin, even if they'd just met? Was it because she was friends with John? John had mentioned how the woman had hated Mr Holmes.

'_That__'__s new...putain,__'_ she couldn't help but think. She didn't want to be prissy, but dear lord was the woman being rude. Robin, if she was more confident, would have probably punched the woman in the face right then and there.

She knew the stories, she had figured out who had sold the late detective out, who had started the beginning of his end. She wouldn't have someone badmouthing her friend and his best friend. And, worse yet, it seemed as if Donovan didn't even hold any remorse. That was unacceptable for Robin…just…that was something very, very bad. Hadn't she learnt from her mistake?

Robin didn't respond to Donovan's questions immediately, not sure of how to proceed. It was always tricky when meeting new people, she didn't know how they would react to certain things, how she would react. Worse yet, she was abysmal at dealing with aggressive people.

'_A bit pretentious, aren__'__t you? Short-tempered too...already a rough day then,__'_ thought Robin, disliking the woman more and more as she quickly analyzed the situation. Admittedly, she should have been more forceful to begin with, not letting the police woman think less of her.

Thinking back to what John had said about the woman, Robin couldn't help but narrow her eyes.

"Look-" she began again, trying harder to explain who she was.

"Clear out freak," interrupted Donovan, really on a fuse at this point. Maybe the subject of the late detective was a sore spot for the young police woman after all?

"Wha-?"

"Get out of here, you're not needed."

'_Apparently a very bad day then. She looks a bit sickly... on edge, hormonal. Cold? Lack of stimuli more like it. Her movements are sluggish and she reeks of coffee__…__a bit like me after a long work session,__'_thought Robin. Her innocent act wavered. _'__Alright, that__'__s enough.__'_Shifting her weight and straightening up a bit, she raised her head a bit more confidently, internally steeling herself and running over what to say.

"Beware of the way you speak to me, Sergeant Donovan," glowered Robin as she tried to threaten, having had enough of the woman. She probably shouldn't have started out with a threat, but it was too late now. Donovan's eyes had already begun to widen, her shoulders stiffening immediately. All pretences aside Robin was becoming annoyed, even with her patience and lack of temper, in public situations her courtesy only went so far. She hoped she would deal with the situation well, not letting her temper flare too much. Because of her lack of interaction, Robin rarely became angry or agitated but that also meant she didn't know how limits and what her 'buttons' were. She also grew tired of interaction easily. Well, at least she remembered that she didn't really have a temper. Hopefully that hadn't changed.

Quickly glancing over Donovan's shoulder, she checked if she was bringing any attention to herself, which she wasn't. The small group was still working around the grave, checking things out and discussing. It seemed as though they hadn't found anything, which was bad. John could be seen with Lestrade, leaning over a computer screen while watching the probe's video feed. So as far as Robin was concerned, she was in the clear.

Donovan looked affronted, not understanding the sudden threat, or how true it could be.

"Beware of how you speak to _me, _freak. I could have you arrested on accounts of assaulting and threatening the police. Your type should stay away, seriously, if you _are_ John's _friend..._ he's got to start thinking his choices over. First that phoney detective..." Donovan's threat was starting to become a rant, apparently already preoccupied in her assumptions. Still, the woman advanced, getting too close for Robin's comfort.

"I haven't even touched you yet, in this circumstance you began by threatening me first," countered Robin, her patience teetering on an edge of a knife.

"Doesn't matter," scoffed Donovan humorously. "Who'd listen to you anyway over the opinion of a sergeant?"

'_Enough_,' thought Robin, knowing that now things were getting out of hand and a touch too personal.

At hearing the last comment Robin immediately steeled, her eyes electrifying and icing over. She straightened to her full height and took on a more rigid pose as she now stood taller than the dark woman in front of her by about a head at least. With her long jet back hair and pale skin, her eyes piercingly vivid as they shone a wicked green, she must have look intimidating since almost immediately Donovan started to take the defensive side.

"How dare you talk about my f-friend like that sergeant? You have no right to speak to _anyone_ this way, especially not at a place like this. Show some respect and stop defiling the man's name," said Robin, her voice now steady and bleak. "Keep your uninformed opinion to yourself and let me pass, I've got work to do."

"S-Show some respect? I am a Sergeant of Scotland Yard, know your place, freak. The Freak was a fraud, everyone knows it, and I will not allow some _amateur_ to push me around," replied Donovan, now a bit shakier in her resolve.

Robin couldn't help but smirk at her success. It came out as a grimace. She hated confrontation with a burning passion, she tended to stay passive aggressive at the very most. Now, she couldn't help but laugh internally as she was actually able to frighten someone. Sure, she had her tricks and she could win at most games, but she was so out of practice she was surprising herself.

"I have a lot I'd wish to tell you, Sally Donovan, but I don't have time or the patience to deal with people like yourself. You have no idea of how much experience I have in these types of matters, no idea at all. I have not time for idiotic police officers like you who think silly titles will keep you safe." Robin paused for a moment, letting her cold words sink in. Robin Day Whittaker might have been a shy and clumsy woman, but the Quartermaster was an unseeable and intimidating force. Suddenly, she plastered a wicked grin on her lips, one she normally reserved for when 'play a game.' "Threaten me all you like but it will get you nowhere. But do heed my warning, sergeant, overstep yourself or harm my friend or his dear ones in any way again and I will _destroy_ you and your precious reputation before you even know what happened."

Sergeant Donovan was left wide-eyed and afraid as Robin turned smartly and started to amble away, her ice melting away to be replaced with her normal indifference and sick feeling in her stomach.

"Bwua-, b-but, what could _you _possibly do?" squeaked out the sergeant before Robin could really leave, hoping to regain some dignity. Gladly they were still far enough away from the others so that no one could hear what Robin said next.

Smirking silently, Robin turned back lazily, holding up her phone.

"You once wronged a great man and in doing so you let the devil loose and destroyed a kind man, while also letting the great man die. Justice, dear sergeant, is the name of the game."

"Bu-but wha-"

"Oh, do you know, no matter how hard someone tries, information –especially on the web –can't ever really be deleted? Old messages, photos or emails, no matter how private, can be accessed if one has the right…skills. It's especially easy to track from online servers…and its oh so fun. Like a puzzle," finished Robin. "I don't wish to make a scene, and I really do think you're a good person at heart, if not a bit of a bully, so I'll try some mercy. J-just leave my friend alone."

And with that, Robin finally left the police woman's presence. She didn't go too far, still wanting to stay near John, but decided that she'd rather be alone right now. Yes, she had looked confident enough in front of the ratty Donovan, but that was only a game, a mask put on. Now, walking away, Robin's eyes widened as she realized what she had done. Never in a million years did she think she could have stepped up against someone, let alone _threatened_ a police officer!

'_T-that was actually kind of f-fun! Though, I suppose I shouldn__'__t have been so tough. She__'__s probably going to be ruined anyway, but I wasn__'__t really going to hurt her...not personally. It__'__s all just business I guess,__'_ thought Robin, a bit out of breath now that her mind was relaxing.

She decided to sit down for a bit, leaning against the nearby tree as she went over what she'd just done. Watching the others work, she huffed tiredly as she succumbed to whatever shock she'd amassed during the confrontation.

Propping her arms against her legs, she realized that this was how most people must now think of the late detective, of John. They thought the detective to be a fraud. A snide, undeserving and low man that had fooled everyone and was really nothing. Someone who had created a hoax, all in the name of attention. And John...John was left as the dim-witted fool who had been strung along for so long that it was pittiable, his kindness overshadowed by his faults.

'_How can they be so ignorant! A man can__'__t just fake all that he__'__d done, and he had done plenty of wonderful things to discredit anything anyone else did. He was brilliant but all that people can see is what they are given...__' _she thought miserably.

She hadn't wanted it to escalate so much, she really didn't, but in the end she had to admit she really did abhor Sally Donovan. Now that she had been able to put a face to the stories, she realized that Donovan was truly the first domino to fall in Mr Holmes' demise.

She had been the first one to really help grow the seed of doubt in everyone's mind. Robin had thought maybe it wasn't on purpose, seeing as Moriarty had been a very impressionistic and manipulative genius. But now, Robin could see that Donovan didn't care at all, she was glad the man was dead. She remembered her companion too…Anderson? Robin wondered what had happened to him. She didn't really want to meet him though…no, not at all.

Raising her head back up from between her knees, she surveyed the work again, watching John and Lestrade argue quietly. John was stressed, tired and afraid. Lestrade didn't look much better. They had finished with the probe and it seemed Robin was needed. They needed a shoulder for support.

Getting up from her resting spot, Robin gazed over the cemetery again, only to catch the eye of Donovan who quickly turned away.

Mistake or not, it was unforgivable.

…

**Author****'****s Note: **It's unforgivable, I know. I've been away too long. Blame school for that and my excessive need to study. I am, quite accurately, the Muggle version of Hermione. Writing's not been high on my priorities at the moment. Well it has…but blame English class for that.

Anyway, so this was just a small chapter, letting Robin meet some more people. Although I personally pity Donovan, I have to agree with Robin's opinion of her. I'm still not sure how she kept her job, when Anderson didn't. Well, justice will be served…eventually. And don't worry, _he _is coming back soon.

Aaand, a big thank you to everyone who's been patient and have been dedicated to the story. A great big applause for reviewers. Reviews motivate me, remember, and help improve to story. Please remember to favourite, follow or review, etc., at your leisure.

Cheers,

Elleari


End file.
